


Reckless

by Cbear2470



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Alternate Universe, Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Everyone Needs A Hug, Falling In Love, Feelings, Fluff, Happy Ending, Healing, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Pining Viktor, Romance, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Vicchan Lives, Viktor's Public Persona, Viktor's backstory, Yuuri's obsession with the Grand Prix Final, and they get it, inevitable figure skating inaccuracies, yuuri is a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-02-12 01:17:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 113,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12948174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cbear2470/pseuds/Cbear2470
Summary: To say Yuuri was not doing well felt like a massive understatement.He was out of his mind, all of the time. No, that’s not right. He wished he could be out of his mind. Instead he was trapped in his head, his thoughts racing. Different variations of the same old themes:You aren’t good enough. You’ll never be good enough. Everyone who has ever told you you’re good enough is lying to you out of pity....I don’t want to do this,he thought.I don’t want to do this. Please, I can’t do this. I can’t take anymore shame, anymore embarrassment. I can’t take anymore failure. Please. Please....There was no way back from something like this....All he knew was that he couldn’t remember a time where he’d ever felt this numb and this free....Or, the one where Yuuri walks off the ice.





	1. Barcelona, Spain - 2015-2016 Grand Prix Final

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thought was always there in the back of his mind: _You could quit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story is definitely AU, meaning in this case basically I shifted the timeline a bit— partially in the name of being able to take or leave whatever references from canon I want, but honestly mostly to save Vicchan. There's a lot of exposition at the beginning to situate you though, and the various major changes from canon are hopefully pretty obvious, all working towards the plot, and definitely intentional.

To say Yuuri was not doing well felt like a massive understatement.

He was out of his mind, all the time. No, that’s not right. He wished he could be out of his mind. Instead he was trapped in his head, his thoughts racing. Different variations of the same old themes:  _You aren’t good enough. You’ll never be good enough. Everyone who has ever told you you’re good enough is lying to you out of pity._

His short program had been disastrous. He hadn’t actually even fallen, aside from a single touch down, but he might as well have. He could name dozens of skaters throughout history who had had disastrous falls but still scored higher than he had in the short program of his first Grand Prix Final just off the top of his head.

Often when skaters have disastrous falls, they somehow find it in themselves to pick themselves up and skate the rest of their programs relatively cleanly, determined to not lose any more points. More often, a skater will fall on one of the more difficult jumps in their program, but still get enough rotations in, making attempting the more challenging jump and falling still worth basically more points than landing a lower scoring jump cleanly.

But Yuuri hadn’t fallen. He hadn’t been overly ambitious. He hadn’t simply made a miscalculation. It was no case of minor human error, a need for a bit more practice to solidify his training and to come back stronger next time.

No, Yuuri had just skated his program like a foal taking its first steps. His step sequence was flat out clumsy. Every jump landed with a violent and terrifying wobble, and half of them were under-rotated or popped entirely. His sit spin had felt comically loose and slow, like a top when it’s about to fall over. And then he was off-beat for the last forty-five seconds of his program.

It was bad. All of it.

And he was convinced now more than ever before that he was a bad skater.

He had to be.

He’d always had his doubts, of course. But he’d been assured by his coach, his family, and his best friend and rink mate Phichit that just because he wasn’t a legend like his idol Viktor Nikiforov (champion of everything and currently on his fourth consecutive year of being undefeated) didn’t mean he wasn’t talented. They’d tell him that just because sometimes his nerves got the best of him, didn’t mean he should let that get in the way of doing what he loved. They’d reminded him again and again that just because he was ranked around the top dozen instead of the top three (or one) skaters in the world, it didn’t mean he should quit.

But he wanted to. He wanted to all the time now. The thought was always there in the back of his mind:  _You could quit_. But for some reason he stayed. Maybe he just didn’t know how to walk away. Maybe he still had some irrational hope that the next season he’d leave his past self behind and spontaneously morph into a world champion. Maybe he just had never known anything else.

He had, after all, loved it once. Skating was the first thing he’d ever loved. He’d loved the freedom he’d felt back when he first started, and it was just himself and Yuuko fooling around during free skate sessions at Ice Castle. Back when even if other people were around, no one was really watching him. No one paid attention to the slightly chubby boy who liked to twirl around the rink with his friend, pretending that they were skating at the Olympics.

But then people did start to pay attention to him. He moved up in levels during his skating lessons quickly, soon passing Yuuko even though she was two years his senior. By the age of twelve, he’d leveled out of the skating classes Ice Castle offered. One of his instructors even went as far as to suggest that Yuuri travel an hour to a skate club in a larger nearby city that had a higher-level competitive skating team.

It was the first time anyone had explicitly told Yuuri that he had real talent.

He’d ended up not joining a competitive team though, as his parents and sister hardly had the time to run the resort  _and_ chauffeur Yuuri to practices six days a week.  

So instead his family, still wanting to do everything they could to support his talent, hired him a coach, a soft spoken but exacting man called Ono Fujioka, to train him privately at Ice Castle, and travel with him around Japan to allow him to compete.

And then, within another few years, he somehow managed to swiftly move from competing in novice competitions in skate clubs around Japan to qualifying for international competitions at the junior level after having won gold at Japan’s Junior National competition just barely a month after his sixteenth birthday.

But all of that run up, all of that raw talent that he’d been told he had seemed to disappear in international competition. He had, of course, actually done do pretty well, he would realize in retrospect several years later when he would come to face true disaster at the senior level. But making it to the Junior Grand Prix final in his first attempt at the Junior Grand Prix series and then placing fifth, and going on to place ninth at Junior Worlds, just felt so mediocre to Yuuri. He’d finally reached a point in national competition where he was consistently winning gold, but then in international competition he found himself back in the middle of the pack—nothing more than a dime a dozen skater.

Then though, as he was approaching his eighteenth birthday, Yuuri decided to make his senior debut. Even though he could technically stay at the junior level until he was nineteen, skaters very rarely did if they could help it. To be eighteen, turning nineteen, the next season and to still be at the Junior level would have made him an old man. Many a skater would give up the sport if it was clear that they would not be ready for the senior level until they were forced to try and enter it or stop skating the season after they turned nineteen. Yuuri had thought he might have been one of them.

So that year, he’d entered his last Junior World Championships and had gotten silver. It was not exactly a neon sign that he was truly ready to excel at the senior level. But, given the difficulty of his routines at that point, it was enough to compete at the senior level and know that he had a chance to hack it with a bit of hard work and a few more quads.

His first year, however, at the senior level felt truly disastrous.

It had started out fine. He didn't have an ISU ranking at the senior level and wasn't seeded for the Grand Prix series, so instead he'd entered the Asian Open Trophy to try and build up his ranking, and he'd placed fourth, which was pretty great for a senior debut, probably. And then came Japanese senior nationals, which he won with surprising ease. So, all things considered, his senior debut was going fine.

But then disaster struck, and he barely finished in the top twenty at the Four Continents, only just even qualifying for the free skate. It was beyond embarrassing as the Japanese national champion.

But everyone told him that was perfectly fine, perfectly normal. Everyone has bad competitions. He’d get better every year. He was still the top ranked skater in Japan, after all. That was a massive deal. He could never do anything else and still be remembered as a very respectable skater. He didn’t have to be the best of the best in order to be worthy. There would be no competition, no sport, if only people with talent and careers like Viktor were allowed to skate.

But to Yuuri, the fact that he just couldn't seem to win gold outside of Japan felt like the most massive and devastating thing in the world. It had only been one competition, but already he had been devastated.

He decided to skip Worlds that year, not interested in skating again until he knew he could do better.

But then as the icing on his failure cake, something even more devastating happened—Ono announced to Yuuri that he would be retiring from coaching.

And Yuuri, despite having been in the world of competitive figure skating for over five years at that point, realized he had no idea how to overcome this blow. It should have been easy—just get a new coach. But who on earth would want a skater as mediocre as Yuuri?

Yuuri immediately withdrew from the world at the news, barely coming out of his room. It took a solid two weeks of ignored phone calls before Ono showed up at the resort and got Yuuri to listen to him enough to let him know he’d already found Yuuri a new coach—a well-established Italian man named Celestino Cialdini that had been coaching out of a facility in Detroit. Yuuri was eighteen turning nineteen now after all. He could enroll in university and train intensively with Celestino as well as another protégée Celestino was taking on, a boy from Thailand called Phichit Chulanont.

It took Yuuri a while to come around to the concept of moving across an ocean from his family and his beloved dog. It took longer to get all the paperwork sorted. By the time everything was worked out and he’d finally made the move and began to adjust, he’d already missed the Grand Prix series, not that he'd been seeded anyway, but he had gotten an invitation from Japan for the NHK Trophy. He just barely made it to Japanese nationals but being behind on his training he’d only managed to come in second. To add insult to injury, Yuuri was passed over for a spot on that year’s Olympic team despite qualifying under normal requirements because he lacked success and experience in international competition.

If anything, though, Yuuri agreed and hardly minded. Failing in televised international competitions of any kind wasn’t exactly fun but failing at the Olympics Yuuri was sure would be especially traumatizing. And the Japanese Skating Federation was right, Yuuri would fail. If he hadn’t even been able to bring himself to compete at Worlds following the Four Continents disaster, he certainly was not up to competing at the Olympics.

So with the support of his new coach, and new rink mate and roommate, Phichit, Yuuri threw himself into his training, preparing to come back the following year stronger than ever before. And in a small way, he did. For the first time in his senior career he made it not only to the Grand Prix series, but to the podium with a bronze at the Cup of China, although paired with a fifth-place finish in his second placement, it wasn’t enough to get him to the Final.

It was not what he’d hoped for though. He’d hoped that he’d soar to the top, finally take the ice at the Grand Prix Final and battle against Viktor, a man who he’d yet to compete against.

That in itself was something that was both frustrating and relieving to Yuuri, depending on the moment. Viktor obviously did not compete at the Four Continents, Yuuri repeatedly skipped Worlds, they hadn’t been assigned the same placements in Yuuri’s first few attempts at the Grand Prix series at the senior level, and Yuuri had yet to make it to one of the places he was destined to compete against Viktor—the Grand Prix Final.

But then, finally, he did. This year, just before his twenty-second birthday, he had finally done it. He’d earned a silver medal in both of his Grand Prix placements with a relatively difficult program designed to maximize as many points as he could with only one quad—a toe loop that he just barely ratified in his first placement that season.

And somehow, it was enough to get into the Final.

He was here, in Barcelona, competing in his first Grand Prix final.

And it should have been brilliant, but yet, it wasn’t.

*

“Yuuri?” he heard Phichit ask cautiously.

After the short program results had been announced, Yuuri had quickly made his way back to the hotel and crawled into bed. Phichit had returned shortly after him but had thankfully not spoken to Yuuri for a good while, allowing the other man time to decompress.

But now apparently Phichit, who was not exactly known for his patience, had finally grown tired of letting Yuuri stew in his anxiety, frustration, disappointment and all the other things he was feeling all at once.

“Hm?” Yuuri murmured, making no effort at all to unbury himself from the hotel’s duvet.

“Some of the other guys mentioned that they were going out tonight. Not for drinks or anything, that would be irresponsible, but out to dinner, maybe some dancing or, I don't know, bull fighting or whatever else is around to get their minds off things and celebrate. I was thinking of going, and I think you should too.”

Yuuri groaned. Phichit was not even competing and was only along as a member of Yuuri’s team, having not qualified this year for the final, but yet somehow, he had managed to get all buddy-buddy with half the skaters competing. For five years now Yuuri had been skating in these circles, and Phichit was the only other skater Yuuri considered anything more than an acquaintance. And that was only by necessity and a small miracle, since while training and living together in Detroit they spent literally all their time together.

Phichit was a few years younger than Yuuri but had come to the US to train without any family, guardianship signed over to Celestino and placed to live in a dorm with Yuuri at the university Yuuri attended and that Phichit had immediately started taking a couple classes at despite the fact that at the time he was still finishing his secondary schooling in Thailand online. It was hard for Yuuri not to befriend the enthusiastic and charismatic teenager and the small army of hamsters that he’d begun to collect, slightly illegally in relation to dorm policy, shortly after his first burst of homesickness just a few weeks into their time in the US.

And Phichit, although not skating in the final, had tagged along to the competition as a “member” of Yuuri’s team—although that was a front at best, Phichit was notoriously no help at much of anything except mischief and pop culture trivia.

Yuuri flopped over onto his back, pulling the duvet down enough to reveal his face.

“You didn’t exactly phrase that as a question.”

“No, it makes it harder for you to say no that way.”

“Phichit, I’m an embarrassment to the skating community. None of them want to hang out with me or be seen anywhere vaguely near me for that matter.”

“Yuuri, no one here thinks like that. Most people would be happy to get to know you as a person, your short program scores be damned. In fact, if anything, even the most competitive dickheads are probably perfectly okay that you tanked your program, it only means less competition and increases their chances at the podium.” Phichit was clearly trying to make a joke, but Yuuri hardly felt like laughing.

Yuuri stared up at the ceiling, blinking slowly. He so profoundly did not want to go. He wanted to stay in bed until the end of time. But he knew that it would be nearly impossible to get Phichit to let him out of it.

He could, of course, get out of it. He could cry or yell or lock himself in the bathroom and refuse to come out. But he was a grown man for god’s sake. And mostly he was too exhausted to go through the argument that it would take to get there. So instead he groaned.

“Fine, I’ll go. But just to dinner, no dancing or games or gambling or whatever else they come up with to do afterwards.”

“Oh, I’m so excited!” Phichit exclaimed. “Well get up then, I told them we’d meet them in the lobby in,” he checked the clock on his phone, “Ten minutes!”

“You already told them I’d come?”

Phichit said nothing, but even not looking at the teenager, Yuuri could tell he was smirking.

*

Ten minutes later Yuuri had been redressed from the warm up suit he’d been wearing over the costume he hadn’t even bothered to take off after the short program into a more suitable ensemble of jeans, a t-shirt, a hoodie, and a pair of Converse.

He followed a gleeful Phichit down to the lobby and was immediately relieved to see that the skaters that had invited Phichit out were not any of the skaters who were at this point expected to medal tomorrow.

He was particularly glad that Viktor was not there.

Yuuri had no interest in coming face to face with his idol being as low as he was now.

Phichit had of course been pestering Yuuri all day to go and speak to the world champion, and the entire time he’d been getting ready that night, Yuuri worried it would be Viktor waiting for him in the lobby.

But then of course, that was entirely unrealistic—why would Viktor want to spend any amount of time anywhere near Yuuri? It’s not exactly like he’d made a great first impression, anyway.

It had been before the warm up and Yuuri had been with Celestino and Phichit beside the rink when suddenly the arena had roared.

Yuuri instinctively knew what that had to have meant.

He’d paused for a moment, almost considering ignoring the noise and the man whose entry had summoned it, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. He looked across the rink to see Viktor Nikiforov entering the arena, his coach and a small entourage of other Russian skaters surrounding him. He was waving to fans as they leaned over the railings and crowded against barriers just to see the man up close.

Time seemed to freeze, in that moment, as he watched Viktor. He knew the man had grace, he’d seen it a thousand times in every routine he’d ever skated. But seeing him in person—the way he carried himself, the way he interacted with everyone around him, the way the energy he put off was strong enough to fill the entire arena, the way he seemed to thrive on the fact that every eye in the room was on him—it was a kind of grace and confidence beyond measure.

Viktor Nikiforov was everything Yuuri wished he could be, but never, ever, Yuuri had always suspected but hadn't been able to confirm until that moment, would be.

And that was because Yuuri was terrified of the world around him. He had had moments, of course, where he’d been able to lose his anxiety on the ice. But world champions were not just people who could skate occasionally clean and difficult(-ish) programs. They were something special. They were something more.

Yuuri couldn’t imagine himself ever rising to the occasion.

In fact, he already hadn’t several times before.

Yuuri, being one of the top ranked skaters in Japan, a two-time National Champion, had been eligible to compete at the World Championship at the senior level since his debut season, but had repeatedly chosen not to. He didn’t see the point if he didn’t have an honest chance at a medal.

Ono had let him get away with it, back when it was still his first season at the senior level and a pretty disastrous one.

But Celestino, Celestino was furious with him, more furious than Yuuri thought the man was capable of, when Yuuri told him he had no intention in competing at Worlds. At first Celestino had ranted on the more obvious and practical reasons it was ridiculous to not compete.  _Your ranking at Worlds qualifies you for other competitions, it would be easier for you to earn a spot in the Grand Prix series if you competed, even if you don’t finish anywhere near the podium_. But then, he began to touch on something they'd never spoken about before, something that ate away at Yuuri.  _You’re the top ranked skater from a country that has always taken great pride in its skaters. If you qualify for Worlds as a skater, you're expected to go. If you don't—we'll I'm not sure Japan will ever forgive you. And I'd hope that you'd never be able to forgive yourself._

Celestino would later apologize for that, saying that he'd taken it too far, to say those things. But Yuuri couldn't be angry with the man— after all he was right. Japan had already once let him explicitly know what they thought of him when they passed him over for the Olympics—and it clearly wasn’t overwhelming pride.

But Yuuri had still refused to compete at Worlds. He had no interest in embarrassing himself. No intention of so formally ruining the pipe dream of being world champion. And he was unconvinced that a country that expected a medal he couldn't attain would care if he didn't go anyway.

He could have been, should have been, a skater that Japan rallied behind. But instead his fan base was alarmingly small. Even skaters who presented themselves as complete assholes to the world still tended to draw numerous fans, who loved the drama and valiantly defended their disgruntled and aggressive idols and called it passion.

Skating fans didn’t seem to see Yuuri as passionate though. Rather, he was passive.

And he was Japan’s disappointment.

He could have been, should have been, something, someone great.

But yet he wasn’t.

Yuuri hadn’t realized he had still been staring at Viktor until, improbably, Victor made eye contact with him.

And then the man had the audacity to smile and wink.

Yuuri had looked away immediately in shame for being caught staring, turning his head quicker than he’d ever turned in his life—so fast he could have gotten whiplash—and then proceeded to ignore Viktor for the rest of the day.

But all this was to say that of course he’d been worried, just a bit, that when Phichit said they were going out with some other skaters that Viktor would be there. It was the kind of thing that would happen just to spite him. There were after all only six men’s singles skaters in the final. And Phichit, being Phichit, could very likely have been still determined to set Yuuri up with his idol, ignoring the fact that a god of a man like Viktor would never want anything to do with a human disaster like Yuuri.

But instead, Phichit introduced Yuuri to Leo de la Iglesia, a jovial American skater who treated Phichit like an old friend, and Guang-Hong Ji, a Chinese skater who looked as reluctant to be there as Yuuri felt. Yuuri wondered if perhaps when Phichit said “a couple of other skaters were thinking of going out” what he had meant was “I begged every skater I came across this afternoon to hang out with us.”

But whatever had happened, it had happened, and so here he was with the bottom half of the Grand Prix final skaters plus Phichit.

They left the hotel and wound up at a restaurant a couple blocks away, where they got a booth in the back and enjoyed their meal. Yuuri was surprised how not awful it turned out to be—not that he really expected them to be terrible, he supposed. But his two competitors turned out to be exceptionally pleasant people—young skaters who seemed to be in awe of just having made it to the final. Yuuri still couldn’t bring himself to speak unless spoken to, but Phichit kept the conversation light and flowing as they ate. They didn’t even mention the competition at all, instead talking about social media and their pets and their favorite television shows. And Yuuri realized that he felt fine. 

This tended to be how Yuuri’s mind worked—he’d be completely miserable and feeling dead inside or completely overwhelmed one minute, but once he was out in the world doing something with other people, he’d tend to suddenly feel annoyingly fine. Sometimes he wished that he could feel worse when he was around other people, so he didn’t feel like he was simply being over-dramatic every time he felt like crawling under a rock and never coming out again or his brain turned into a static rush of racing thought when he was alone. But Yuuri didn’t know how to be not okay in front of other people much of the time. Every instinct he had told his to hide it. He knew how to ignore other people, or try to, when he couldn’t take it anymore. But he had no clue how to let anyone else know how not okay he was most of the time.

But then, suddenly, he thought he might have a reason to try a bit harder, because Viktor walked into the restaurant.

*

It happened suddenly and like something out of a dream—a bell chimed over the door, and for some reason Yuuri was compelled to look up, and there was Viktor.

And now Yuuri wanted nothing more than to hide under the table and curl up into a catatonic ball.

The Russian champion was followed by Christophe Giacometti, a Swiss skater currently in second, and Georgi Popovich, another Russian skater and Viktor’s rink mate who was currently in third. They were expected to all make the podium tomorrow, very likely in their current order.

Neither Guang-Hong or Leo were expected to overtake them. And it would be impossible, even if he skated a perfect program and upped several elements to include higher scoring jumps that he’d never even landed in competition before, for Yuuri to. Not unless all of the five skaters in front of him had the most disastrous skates of their careers. Which was highly unlikely.

But it would have seemed highly unlikely as well, at least in Yuuri’s mind, for the podium trio to come in and make their way right over to the losing trio plus Phichit, but yet that was happening as well.

“Oh what are the chances of running into you all here?” Viktor exclaimed, clasping his hands together. “Great minds must think alike. Mind if we join you?” Viktor asked, looking, inexplicably, straight at Yuuri.

He was the oldest in the group. That must have been it.

 _Yes_ , Yuuri wanted to say. He did in fact mind. He’d like nothing more than for the world to dematerialize around him and for him to be left quietly floating in a void of nothingness.

“Of course, join us!” Phichit cut in as Yuuri silently gaped at Viktor.

He found himself being pushed to the side to make room as Viktor, Christophe, and Georgi slid into the rounded booth.

“So you must be Phichit! I noticed you here with Yuuri,” Viktor said, addressing Phichit, and Yuuri’s stomach clenched at the sound of his name so casually on Viktor’s lips, as if they had met many a time before.

“You know who I am?” Phichit asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

“Of course I do! What kind of skater am I if I don’t keep track of the competition?”

“Although you’ve begun following some more closely than others,” Christophe quipped with a laugh.

Yuuri had no idea what that was supposed to imply. However, the thought of Viktor having caught a video of him skating online, or having looked up his stats, or even just being vaguely aware, all this time, that he existed at all made Yuuri want to throw up.

But thankfully, quickly and easily there was conversation among the table, facilitated mainly by Phichit, Chris and Viktor, who seemed to have a similar brand of blunt outgoing-ness. They started off with a little bit about skating, but then quickly made their way into less directly related matters. Tales of drunken escapades moved into a discussion of amazing spots they’d found in the foreign cities they’d traveled to, along with favorite places back home. Yuuri was listening to everything and nothing at all though. He heard every word, but he knew he was instantly forgetting them. A part of him wanted to remember, wanted to savor every behind-the-scenes detail of Viktor’s life. But a larger part of him was completely and totally shutting down.

“Do you have a favorite place back in Japan, Yuuri?”

Was someone talking to him?

“Yuuri?”

He realized Viktor was addressing him. He looked at the man, who was looking at him far, far too earnestly, bright eyes boring into him. Who gave someone the right to have eyes like that?

“Oh, um. Well my town does have this place, it’s kind of a ninja palace, I don’t know how to explain it,” Yuuri murmured. “But I think I just like the beach, mostly. I live by the coast. And my families hot springs too.” he added quickly.

“A ninja palace! I would love to see that someday. Maybe I will come visit and you can show me around, yes?”

Yuuri could not imagine a universe in which Viktor: A. Found himself in Hasetsu and B. Would call on Yuuri to serve as a tour guide. But instead he pulled his face into a slightly too forced smile.

“Sure, that would be nice.”

Viktor looked at him and cocked his head, as if he was studying something intriguing, but his eyes looked sad.

 _No, not intriguing_ , Yuuri’s mind supplied.  _That is too kind a word. More likely he’s confused as to how you manage to get out of bed in the morning when you’re such a complete and total embarrassment to both the sport of figure skating and the human race._

He couldn’t take Viktor’s gaze anymore and instead quickly looked down at his hands.

“I think Yuuri and I should call it a night,” he heard Phichit say and he suddenly looked up at his friend. “Big day tomorrow and all.”

“Ah, yes, but of course it is,” Viktor responded, pushing himself out of the booth to let Phichit and Yuuri out. “We’d all best get some rest. I would hate for any of you to be skating any less than your best tomorrow,” Yuuri could almost hear Viktor’s stupid, teasing grin even though he was back to refusing to look at the man, “It would hardly make for any fun.”

Phichit and Yuuri said their goodbyes and made their way out of the restaurant and back to the hotel. Phichit, mercifully, did not make any commentary on the evening, and instead they remained in peaceful silence.

Although maybe it would have been better if Phichit had talked and served as a distraction. Because Yuuri was currently replaying the last thing Viktor had said over and over again in his mind.

 _It would hardly make for any fun_.

Was competing supposed to be fun?

*

Yuuri woke up the next morning and after a blissful moment of not knowing and forgetting, he was hit with a wave of dread.

His mind immediately began to throw a tantrum.  _I cannot get out of bed this morning. I just can’t. There is no way. Absolutely no way. I can’t do this. Oh my god please don’t make me do this. Why can’t I just stay in bed? People get sick and take days off all the time, right? Why can’t I take a day off? Why don’t I ever get a day off? Why can’t I ever catch a break? Why do I have to do this? I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Please, please, don’t make me do this._

But he did get out of bed, just like he did every morning. He couldn’t deal with the consequences of not, so it was just easier if he did.

If he didn’t get out of bed, he’d have to talk to Phichit, talk to Celestino about why he was refusing to skate. And if he didn’t talk, he just lay in bed refusing to speak, they’d worry. They’d worry more than anyone should worry, particularly about Yuuri.

So, he got up. He got up and showered and put on his sweats. He grabbed the garment bag with his costume and the bag with his skates, checking three times to make sure everything was where it should be. He left the room with Phichit to go meet Celestino in the lobby and head to the arena. He went to the athletes locker rooms and put on his costume, putting his warm up jacket on over it, laced up his skates, and gelled back his hair.

He let Phichit fuss over him and Celestino remind him of everything he was not to forget. He stretched. He went out onto the rink for warm up and forced himself to practice his step sequence. The step sequence, along with his stamina, was historically Yuuri’s strong suit. But today he had no energy and his footing was lazy and imprecise. He looked up and saw Celestino and Phichit watching him with worry. Determined to get that look off their faces, he threw himself into a jump and landed it cleanly. Of course, it was only a double, and he had meant for it to have been a triple.  _No, if you were anything it should have been a quad_.

And then, much too soon, it was time to skate. And Yuuri, being last, was up first.

Phichit and Celestino were encouraging him, saying all the good friend and good coach things they should have as all the other skaters left the ice after the warm up period.

But Yuuri was hardly listening because his mind was throwing a tantrum again.

 _I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. Please don’t make me do this. Please, don’t make me do this._   _Let the sky fall in. Let an earthquake crack the rink in half. Let me drop down dead, for all it matters. As long as I don’t have to skate._

He made his way to the center of the rink, skating in slow, nervous loops until his name was officially announced. He wondered what the media commentators were saying about him off in their booths. He wondered if they were making comments about how he was a promising skater but was coming off of one of the most disastrous short programs they’d seen at this level in a long time. He wondered if they were wondering if today, he was going to make an attempt to remind everyone why he deserved to be there.

But Yuuri didn’t deserve to be there.

_I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. Please, I can’t do this. I can’t take anymore shame, anymore embarrassment. I can’t take anymore failure. Please. Please._

His music started.

Yuuri began to lift his arms, so he wouldn’t already fall behind straight away at the very least. But then something settled over him. Something that had never come to him before, but all at once, the thought was there like rain after a drought.

 _I don’t want to do this_.  _I can't do this_. He’d pleaded for the thousandth time.

 _Then don’t_.

His music played and Yuuri stood there. He stood there for what could have been hours, for all Yuuri knew, but was really only all of about ten seconds.

Then, calmly, calmer than he’d felt in ages, Yuuri skated to the edge of the rink and stepped off.

Phichit and Celestino were there instantly, but they didn’t seem to have any words to respond to what Yuuri had just done. Or maybe they did and Yuuri just couldn’t hear them.

Yuuri walked to the locker room and went over to a bench and took off his skates, casting them lazily aside. He tore off his costume next, letting it crumple to the floor, before putting on his street clothes and shoes.

He thought he could distantly hear his friend and his coach talking to him now, their voices panicked.

“Yuuri, what’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you injured? Yuuri? Yuuri? Talk to us,” one or both of them was saying.

But Yuuri didn’t want to talk. Nothing he could say would make things better. Usually whenever he got a little reckless, he’d instantly become terrified and full of regret and he’d back pedal as quickly as possible.

But there was no way back from something like this.

Tonight he’d finally made skating history—the first skater ever to walk off the ice before even attempting their program.

There probably was not a bigger insult to the sport.

So he tied up his shoes, grabbed his jacket, and, leaving his skates and costume carelessly abandoned on the floor, he made his way to the exit. He walked out of the arena and just kept walking to nowhere in particular. He certainly didn’t have anywhere to go.

All he knew was that he couldn’t remember a time where he’d ever felt this numb and this free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading! If you want to leave kudos or comments or whatever I will probably love you more than a person reasonably should love a faceless stranger on the other end of the internet.


	2. Hasetsu, Japan - Winter/Spring 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You still need to get help. What you’re doing right now isn’t helping. Your wound needs stitches and dressing if it’s ever going to heal. Right now, all you’re doing is coating it in anesthetic and letting it get infected.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who kudos and comments and etc!

The world around Yuuri swam and blurred, and all Yuuri could do was keep dancing.

Lights flashing, music thumping, Yuuri danced like his life depended on it.

And Yuuri loved it, loved all of it.

He loved the way the bass resonated in his chest, loved the way his skin was coated in sweat and alcohol, loved the way his body pressed against others, loved the way there was nothing to remember, only things to forget.

He backed into a warm body and hands ran down his sides. Yuuri stayed like that for a moment or an eternity, it didn’t matter either way, grinding himself against the firm body behind him.

“Fuck, you’re amazing.”

That was something he’d heard often, recently. One variation or another of it—whispered in his ear while someone grabbed his swaying hips.

Yuuri spun around to appraise his dance partner. He liked anonymity, for a while, so that he could pretend that it was anyone behind him. But when it got to the point where someone wanted to talk, it was best to check what he was getting himself into.

He found himself facing a man, probably a bit older than himself, who had floppy bleached hair and was wearing a tight V-neck that hugged a lean chest.

Yuuri gave the man a coy smirk.

_He’ll do._

“Buy me a drink?” Yuuri asked.

The man nodded and grabbed his hand, pulling him out of the crowd and towards the bar where he ordered a couple shots.

“Make it four,” Yuuri amended the man’s order. “Hell, make it six.”

Something flashed across the man’s face for half a second, but quickly it morphed into a smirk.

The shots were laid out on the counter and the other man raised one in a gesture of cheers.

Yuuri mimicked the gesture.

“Race you,” he said teasingly before throwing back the first shot and then the two after it like a flash.

The other man was just raising his last shot to his lips when Yuuri slammed his final glass down on the counter with a triumphant grin. The man sputtered on his shot and set down the glass, coughing.

“I hope you’re worth it,” he said between coughs, but he was smiling.

“Depends on what you’re looking for,” Yuuri said, quickly pulling the other man into him and capturing his lips for a searing kiss. The man’s hands roamed his body, sliding against his stomach under his shirt.

Yuuri pulled away from the man’s lips to suck on his neck for a few moments before moving up to nip at his ear.

“But I’ll probably disappoint you,” he whispered.

The man didn’t seem to care about Yuuri’s admission, pulling him away from the bar and dragging him to the edge of the room, where he slammed Yuuri against the wall and took another kiss.

Hands were all over Yuuri’s body now, and he swore the man must have had a third one he’d been hiding. He was being touched everywhere, seemingly all at once. The kiss deepened until Yuuri worried the other man would swallow him as he practically sucked on Yuuri’s tongue, but as the shots kicked in, he hardly cared about any of it.

And then the man was pressing his pelvis against Yuuri’s, bringing some delightful friction. Yuuri moaned at the sensation, pulling the man even tighter against him.

But then suddenly the man pulled away and Yuuri whimpered. Going from so much to no sensation all at once sent a jolt through him, and the shots suddenly felt a little less effective than he’d hoped.

The man tilted his head, gesturing towards the direction of the toilets.

Yuuri sighed and shook his head.

The man looked confused for a second, but then his face settled into a smile.

Yuuri took a deep breath, instantly realizing what type of man this guy was going to be.

Before Yuuri had a chance to think, none the less do something to regain control of the situation, the man pulled Yuuri close again, a hand on his shoulder and another palming his groin.

“Ah, too good for a toilet stall? That’s alright, we’ll get out of here. I know you want it.”

Yuuri shoved the man away.

“What the fuck,” the man growled, “What the fuck is wrong with you, are you some kind of fucking tease?”

“I told you exactly what to expect,” Yuuri said, forcefully getting himself out from between the wall and the man. “I didn’t promise you anything.”

And with that Yuuri made his way to the exit of the club.

For some reason, despite the host of self-destructive behavior he’d been engaging in recently, Yuuri had some mental block he couldn’t get past when it came to sex. No matter how drunk he got, he couldn’t shake the thought that sex was just a step too far. It brought along real risks. It could make things messy and complicated. It gave people a kind of power over him that Yuuri instinctively wanted nothing to do with.

Even still, Yuuri had sometimes tried to drink himself drunk enough to get all those feelings and worries to go away, because the things he had done with strangers in the dark were lovely and he wanted more. Or at least he wished he wanted more. Or wished there was someone he wanted more with, maybe.

But as far as he knew, he’d never been able to go further than kissing and touching and grinding. There was a chance, he supposed, that he had—a couple times when he first started partaking in nightlife before he’d figured out his tolerance and he’d gotten black out drunk. Nights he remembered very little of.

But Yuuri had decided if he couldn’t remember it, couldn’t prove anything had ever happened, then it hadn’t. He had no reason to believe otherwise, and it wasn't worth becoming paranoid.

The street outside the club was relatively quiet. A couple people stumbling along, into or out of bars and clubs. Hasetsu didn’t exactly have a particularly expansive nightlife district, being a relatively small town. But people lived there, and it had once been a thriving tourist town even if those numbers had been shrinking over the years, and there was definitely a demand for places to go to let loose.

So on the outskirts of town, tucked as far away from the town center as you could get without technically leaving Hasetsu there was a little street, that during the day looked a little rundown, but at night sprang to life with clubs and bars and other slightly naughtier or niche establishments.

The club that Yuuri frequented was hidden behind a nondescript door, the kind of door designed to not draw anyone through it that wasn’t looking for it. And even if you stumbled in by mistake, you’d still have to wind down a hallway and down a flight of stairs into a basement to get into the club. And it wasn’t any type of club in particular, that was more than could have been expected in Hasetsu. But it was the kind of place that was known for its open-mindedness, lack of rules, and well, overall discretion, which fit Yuuri’s needs just fine.

He’d tried some of the other clubs and bars on the strip, but this was the only one where he seemed to get exactly the kind of distraction he wanted, at least seventy-five percent of the time. And well, the other twenty-five percent consisted of memories that made his skin crawl a bit, but for the most part he could pretend to forget. It came with the territory, he told himself.

After the Grand Prix Final, Yuuri had ultimately returned to Hasetsu. He’d thought about staying in Detroit to finish school, but, while the facility he’d been training in was world class, nothing else about Detroit was exactly that. If he wasn’t skating, there was no reason for him to be there. His family might worry about him but being in the same city as Phichit and Celestino was a harsher reminder of what he’d run away from than he could bear.

And while when he realized he didn’t want to stay in Detroit, but wished he didn’t have to go home, Yuuri had also considered the idea of moving to another city in Japan, somewhere where he could be anonymous and not have to deal with his family’s disappointment and worry. But if he moved somewhere else he’d have to get a job, and pay rent, which Yuuri desperately didn’t want to do.

And so, while he didn’t want to come home, exactly, it ended up being the best option.

By coming home, he earned enough pocket money to pay for his nighttime excursions by doing some chores around the resort and got room and board for free. He knew he couldn’t live his life like this forever, doing as little as possible all day and staying out all night. He knew in the back of his mind this lifestyle had an expiration date, when his family wouldn’t excuse this as being a troubled phase that eventually he would find a way out of anymore.

But he’d deal with that when he got there.

So currently he was just floating along. Ignoring anyone from the figure skating world who tried to get in contact with him. Ignoring anyone at home who tried to call attention to his reckless behavior. Sticking to his new routine.

And in a blur, four months had passed, and nearly everyone around Yuuri seemed resigned to his decisions.

Walking briskly away from the club, Yuuri made his way over to a line of cabs that were waiting nearby to carry the inebriated throngs of people home, or wherever else it was they went at the end of the night.

“Where to?” the driver asked once Yuuri was seated in the back of the car.

He thought for a second. It was 3:30 in the morning. He should go home and sleep. But he felt annoyingly sober and didn’t want to have to lie in bed with his thoughts while waiting for sleep to take him.

So instead he told the cab driver to take him somewhere else, somewhere he’d been visiting more often recently on nights like this.

Twenty minutes later the car pulled up in front of a large building.

“You sure this is where you want? It looks pretty shut.”

Yuuri nodded, paying his fare before stepping out of the cab and making his way up the steps that led into Ice Castle.

In truth, he was starting to wind up here more nights than he didn’t now-a-day.

The first couple months after he’d returned, Yuuri had wanted nothing to do with skating. He’d fled the Grand Prix and returned straight to Hasetsu after little more than a quick stop at the hotel to pick up his suitcase and passport and a pause in front of the airport ticketing counter as he decided where he wanted to go.

He’d abandoned his skates and costume at the arena, and the rest of his possessions were left in the US, with the hope that he’d never have to see any of it ever again. He’d hoped to never have to think about figure skating again.

So, when he came back to the resort one day after a few weeks in Hasetsu to find several boxes stacked in his room, containing his skates, costumes, medals, photos, and other personal artifacts, Yuuri had been furious at the reminder.

Of course, Phichit and Celestino should return the things that belonged to him, it was a courtesy. Probably a larger one than he deserved. But Yuuri felt like it was an attack, like they were trying to make him feel guilty, like they were trying to make his mind freeze and his heart race. He’d wished they’d thrown it all away, because Yuuri, for some godforsaken reason, would not be able to himself, though he considered it.

Instead he’d shoved everything into a storage closet and locked the door.

But then, after about two months back at home, he’d had one of the first bad nights he’d remembered having. A man Yuuri had been dancing with had managed to get his own pants undone without Yuuri noticing until the man had taken Yuuri’s hand and placed it over his erection. Yuuri had immediately pulled away and run off in horror. He remembered standing on the street outside the club feeling angry and frustrated and helpless and trapped in skin he needed to crawl out of.

And in his drunken and panicked haze, he’d found himself at Ice Castle, climbing into the director’s office through an unlocked window.

He wanted to forget, forget everything, and alcohol apparently wasn’t enough. Alcohol left him vulnerable. What he needed was control.

So, he put on a pair of rental skates and took to the ice.

He skated furiously, manically, at first, going through old step sequences from his programs and tearing up the ice. But then, being inebriated and out of practice, Yuuri tripped on his toe pick, and went sliding across the ice and into the wall.

He lay there on the ice slowly and methodically taking inventory of his body, an old habit from being an athlete.

Nothing was broken, but he could already feel bruises forming. And he could feel the blisters forming on his feet from skating on skates that weren’t his, weren’t broken in properly, and frankly weren’t designed for Yuuri’s level of skating.

And he found himself feeling pleased.

The dull ache was a different but familiar kind of feeling than the feelings he’d been chasing after recently, the thought of marks on his skin that he had put there himself— it made Yuuri feel satisfied in a way he hadn’t in so long.

So, he got up and skated harder.

He started going through entire programs, over and over and over again, ignoring the exhaustion and the increasing burn in his legs.

He began attempting jumps he knew he very likely couldn’t land just to fall. Every quad he didn’t have ratified became fair game—salchows, loops, flips, Lutz’s.

He continued training in this violent manner four or five times a week from the time after he got out of the club until Yuuko and Takeshi arrived around eight or nine in the morning, slipping out just before they arrived.

He knew, of course, that they knew he was there. They could see it in the ice, if not the surveillance footage.

He also knew they knew because after a couple weeks of repeat visits, a much nicer set of skates than the rental pair he’d been using had been left out on the counter of the rental skate storage room. They weren’t as nice as his skates, the ones that were locked away in a closet. His skates, which he had bought in the US when he started training there, cost, between the boots and the blades, about the same as a cheaper used car or a few brand-new top-of-the-line smart phones. But these skates were still a more advanced grade, a similar quality to the skates he’d gotten when he first started skating competitively as a child, just a couple sizes bigger.

He’d thought about ignoring them and sticking with the rental skates that had become inadvertently his when the insides of them became coated in his blood as the ill-fitting skates had worn into his feet beyond mere blisters. But he didn’t want to push it too far.

He could severely hurt himself if he kept attempting jumps on those skates, injuring himself in a far more damaging way than bruises and blisters. And of course, he worried Yuuko and Takeshi might start locking the window if they thought he was going to severely injure himself.

So, he started using the skates, breaking them in quickly and painfully, and the office window was always left unlocked.

However, after two months, something annoying began to happen—Yuuri began to get better.

He shouldn’t have. He was skating on medium quality skates, not 100% sober, without a coach, completely exhausted—he should have broken his ankles a dozen times over. That’s what  _should_  have happened. But it didn’t.

Instead, his footwork was nearly better than it had ever been, cleaner and more emotive, which was no small feat considering that it had been his signature. And, most notably, he could land all of his triples cleanly, even the salchow which he’d had a long history of popping in competition for no apparent reason, almost every single time.

So that night, he stepped out of the cab and crawled into the window, intending to keep working on his quads.

He’d been working on them intensively for about a month now, and was still, thankfully, tanking them most of the time.

He put on his skates after a bare minimum amount of stretching and took to the ice beginning with a routine that he had been using as a sort of warm up recently. Not that it was exactly a warm up, but rather a grueling free skate program. In fact, it was last season’s free skate program of a certain Russian champion, who despite the fact that he skated the man’s programs most nights a week, Yuuri tried hard to think little about. This program had also, at least when Viktor skated it, broken the world record—twice.

But Yuuri liked this program in particular though because it contained a quadruple flip, a jump that Yuuri had never landed, ever, at any point in his career.

Some of his other quads had been getting better even before the Grand Prix fiasco and his subsequent retirement—the loop and Lutz in particular. Even though he’d only ratified his first quad, the toe loop, that season in competition, he’d begun landing that quad in practice relatively consistently almost year before he felt confident enough to finally use it and had begun focusing on learning other quads. He’d picked the loop and the Lutz because they had always been the jumps Yuuri had been able to pick up more quickly. The salchow, despite being a lower scoring jump than both the loop and the Lutz, had always given Yuuri a lot of difficulty for some reason. And the quad flip was Viktor’s signature jump, and Yuuri didn’t feel worthy of even trying to touch it.

It had become a thing in the skating community, actually. Viktor Nikiforov became the first person to land a quad flip in competition a few years ago, and no one else had been able to match him. Some people joked it’s not that the flip was so hard, but that it was some kind of mental block. After all the quad Lutz did score higher and a couple skaters had landed that jump in competition over the past few years. The quad flip was Viktor’s signature, though, and therefore no one else could land it. 

And so Yuuri had spent most of the last two seasons doing a lot of really intensive plyometric training trying to get his body in the kind of shape it needed to be in to really be able to build up an arsenal of quads and have the strength to be confident he could land them consistently in competition.

Finally doing the toe loop in competition was a test drive. He had initially hoped that he’d have either the loop or the Lutz by the end of the current season and had reached the point of usually being able to at least get the rotations in on the loop, even if he could rarely land it, by the Grand Prix final, so he had been reasonably on track.

And now, four months after quitting, he was back to beginning to progress past the place he was in before he'd stopped competing. And actually, just a few days ago, Yuuri had found himself landing the loop more times in one night than he fell, even though the landing was rough.

Which should have been exciting. If this had happened six months ago Yuuri would have been thrilled. But now he was a little horrified. 

Falling had always been his thing, and now with the bruises it left he depended on it.

At least though the flip though was still, always, a guaranteed crash for Yuuri, often after only three and a half rotations, and a guaranteed eruption of bruises across his body that he could savor later.

And so that night Yuuri started Viktor's routine, the music playing distantly from a small set of speakers he’d found in the office that he could connect his phone to.

He put everything he had into it. The first couple jumps came and went and were landed with little more than a wobble. A quad Lutz turned into a triple when he couldn’t commit to the quad, but he landed it flawlessly. He had gone through the step sequence with vigor and energy, taking all his anger and frustration and sorrow out on the ice, satisfyingly slicing it up with his blades.

Then came the quad flip. Yuuri glided down the middle of the rink, picking up speed before he took off, launching himself with his toe pick. He went spinning three times, a little surprised when he was still in a good position as he rotated a fourth time. And then he prepared for the landing, waiting for his leg to slide out from under him and for him to hit the ice and go skidding across the rink.

His blade touched down and Yuuri found himself gliding out of the jump, only bending down for a second to touch the ice to stabilize himself. He glided across the ice, the music still playing but the second half of the program forgotten as Yuuri ran out of momentum and slid to a stop, almost toppling over.

Well, fuck.

* * *

 

Yuuri realized he was starving as he left the rink that morning. He’d been careful these past few months to watch what he ate, particularly considering how much he was drinking at night. When he’d first come home he’d indulged in many a pork cutlet bowl. But then when he started going out at night and strangers started worshiping his body, which was still lean from his training, he realized he’d rather keep feeling hands on his body than have a full stomach.

But then, between the hours of dancing and the hours of skating, Yuuri seemed to have been burning enough calories that he was actually losing weight. Nothing drastic, but his face had at the very least become less rounded and had instead been looking thin and admittedly a little sallow, and his body was the slightest bit narrower—Yuuri’s body fat percentage likely just dropping a bit lower than it historically had been.

He could use a good meal, he decided, to ironically celebrate the fact that the universe didn’t seem to give a damn about what Yuuri wanted and would rather let him do near impossible things rather than—

Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to fully think the thought—what, destroy himself, maybe?

Yuuri pushed the thought away. Learning jumps was always hard on a skater’s body, what he was doing was relatively normal.

Remembering his encounter with that man that night, another bitter thought filled Yuuri’s mind—Yuuri wasn’t the tease, it was the goddamn universe that was—letting Yuuri think he had talent and then crushing him, and then rubbing salt in the wounds, mocking him, by letting him finally begin to do amazing things as a skater only after he’d quit.

He walked along the streets of Hasetsu looking for someplace to eat. It was still early though, and only a couple coffeehouses were just opening. Yuuri didn’t want coffee or tea and maybe a pastry, though. He wanted eggs and rice and vegetables and any kind of crispy salty meat he could jam into his face.

He found himself at Kachu snack bar, pounding on the door to the apartment that was above the bar until a hungover-looking Minako answered.

Minako was one of the only people he’d been on not too hostile terms with since arriving back in Hasetsu. She couldn’t judge him as easily as the others, since they were, he had realized a while ago, in many ways the same. She’d finished a competitive and decorated career as a dancer and the quickly fell into alcoholism. Of course, she somehow got everyone to ignore her alcohol problems, everyone treating her alcohol abuse like a quirk instead of a problem like they would come soon enough to treat it for Yuuri, even if they were still in the phase of ignoring it. But none the less, they were similar.

He supposed that the biggest difference between them was that she ran a successful business and had taught dance as well for many years. She functioned in a way that Yuuri did not.

Yuuri didn’t want to get a job and prove that he could function during the day while drinking away his sorrows at night. He wasn’t ready to think about what life was going to really be like for him if he wasn’t a figure skater anymore.

But still, all of it was enough. It was enough to make it so that Minako couldn’t say anything to Yuuri, because he would have been able to say all the unspoken things and give it right back if she tried.

“What the fuck, Yuuri?” Minako exclaimed.

“You keep food here right?”

There was a silence for a few moments as Minako seemed to take Yuuri in. He probably looked a bit shit, smelling of alcohol and sweat, thin cheeks flushed from skating, bags under his eyes from being awake all night.

“What kind of question is that?” she seemed to settle on asking.

“Minako, please,” Yuuri pleaded before falling silent.

Minako groaned.

“What’ll you have, sir?” she asked, mock taking his order as she rolled her eyes, after having run upstairs into the apartment to grab her keys before leading Yuuri into the snack bar.

“The chefs special will be fine,” he responded with a small smile.

Twenty minutes later Yuuri had a big bowl of warm food in front of him to shovel into his mouth. He felt incredibly content, more content than he’d felt sober and off the ice in ages.

“So, what have you been up to recently, Yuuri?” Minako asked casually and Yuuri froze, suddenly feeling very defensive, and angry at Minako for breaking the pleasant silence they had going.

“Oh, um, this and that.”

“Yuuri,” she started flatly, but Yuuri stopped her.

“Minako, don’t.”

“Everyone is worried about you.”

Yuuri said nothing and suddenly lost his appetite.

“Look, I understand how tough it is to go from devoting your life to something for years to suddenly not having it anymore. I know how hard it is to rebuild a life after that. And I know you think that I’ve not handled it all as well as I could. But you can’t live life like this. You need to find something.”

Yuuri stood up from his seat at the counter, getting ready to leave. He didn’t want to hear it.

“But I think for you it’s skating,” she continued, a bit frantically. “I think for you it will always be skating. I think you quit too soon. I think you still love it too much. And I think you’re good enough that you could spend the rest of your life working in that realm if you wanted to.”

Yuuri was furious, how dare she?

“You know nothing about what skating was doing to me!” Yuuri snapped.

And Minako froze for a second, her eyes wide.

“You needed to get help with your anxiety,” she said after a moment, more gently now. “You still need to get help. What you’re doing right now isn’t helping. Your wound needs stitches and dressing if it’s ever going to heal. Right now, all you’re doing is coating it in anesthetic and letting it get infected.”

Yuuri looked at Minako for just a second more to send her a cutting glare before he turned on his heel and walked out of the snack bar.

“Thanks for the food,” he called over his shoulder, his voice rough from what might have been anger, but was probably mostly exhaustion.

* * *

 

Another month and a half passed, and Yuuri kept to his routine, although exhaustion was beginning to wear on him. He’d started leaving the club earlier to get to the rink, his skating seeming to help clear his mind in a way that alcohol couldn’t. Sometimes he skipped the club entirely and just skated all night.

But, there were still many a night where he needed things skating couldn’t give him. When his mind was just too loud, and he couldn’t have gotten it to focus on something else, no matter how hard he may have tried. On these nights, Yuuri wound up back at the club, begging whatever liquid filled his glass to just let his mind go silent for even just a goddamn minute.

Tonight was one of those nights. A couple drinks. A couple more. A bit of dancing. A bit of touching. A bit more. The noise in his head slowly turned to static, which was enough to keep him on edge, but better than having to listen to the ranting voice in his head, reminding him of everything he wasn’t.

Then came the hands on his hips and the words in his ear.

“I must be the luckiest man alive to run into you again.”

Considering that Yuuri was in this club several nights a week for the past six months, even if recently that number had been decreasing, it hardly seemed a matter of luck. Yuuri wanted to turn around and see who the man was, remind him that many a man seemed to consider being with Yuuri the opposite of luck in the end. But then, there were some men who knew how far Yuuri would go and accepted it, who seemed to love taking Yuuri anywhere and as far as he let them whenever they got the chance. And as long as they never asked for anything more, Yuuri was glad to let them. Yuuri hoped this man was one of those men. But the man’s hands were so firmly on his hips, holding him in place, he couldn’t turn around. So, instead Yuuri let the man pull him against him as they danced.

The man tilted his head into the crook of Yuuri’s neck and began to kiss it. Yuuri leaned his head back to rest on the man’s shoulder and he moaned.

He could feel the vibrations of a pleased hum from the man against his skin. He loosened his grip on Yuuri’s hips and his hands began to wander. Yuuri gave into the sensations of being enveloped by the man for a few blissful minutes before he finally spun around to look at the man, desperate for a kiss.

As he finally laid eyes on the man though, Yuuri paused.

He didn’t recognize him. Yes, there had been a lot of men, but Yuuri’s memory was pretty decent, even through the drink. And even if he had forgotten, this man also wasn’t exactly Yuuri’s usual type. Instead of being long and lean with the kind of hair that begged to have hands run through it, like the men Yuuri usually favored, this man had broad shoulders and muscular arms, and his hair was buzzed short.

But then the man was kissing him, and it felt nearly as nice as it ever did, so Yuuri kissed back.

And after a few more minutes or hours or days, the man broke the kiss and took Yuuri by the hand, pulling him away and towards the toilets.

Yuuri stopped in his tracks, and the man turned to look at him.

“No.”

“What?”

“No.”

The man looked at him, his brow furrowing.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to,” Yuuri said simply.

A look caught the man’s eyes.

“You wanted to last time.”

The man had definitely confused him with someone else. Yuuri told him as such.

A look passed over the man’s face that Yuuri couldn’t identify. But whatever it was, it made Yuuri’s blood run cold and his heart stop.

“You don’t remember?” he said with a smirk.

Yuuri struggled to find the words, “You, you must be confused. I don’t—,” but the man cut him off.

“I’m not confused,” the man said in a way so firm it had a level of cruelty. “I was surprised, of course, all those months ago when I found Japan’s former two-time national champion figure skater dancing in a seedy basement in Hasetsu.”

Yuuri couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe. But the man didn’t seem to notice or care though since he kept talking.

“Although I guess it’s to be expected. It astounds me how even in today’s day and age, men’s figure skaters like to pretend every one of them is straight. But none of them ever are, are they?”

At that precise moment Yuuri’s head began to throb, like every hangover he’d ever lucked out of having hit him all at once.

“I’ve thought about you for months, Yuuri.” The man was stepping closer to Yuuri now, and Yuuri was instinctively stepping back, but soon found himself backed into a wall. The man reached out and ran a finger down his cheek. He could feel the man’s breath hot on his face. The man’s fingers moved to trace Yuuri’s lips. “You have such a talented mouth, capable of doing such… wonderful things. And then you, looking so beautiful doing them.”

_No._

_No._

_No, no, no, no, no._

Panic overtook him, and he finally found it in himself to move, shoving the man away.

“You’re lying!” he gasped.

The man only smirked.

“I’m not,” the man said with a sickening level of pride. Then he paused for a second, seeming to think before his face twisted even more. “And I could tell people, you know. About you. About what you’ve been doing since the Grand Prix.”

Was the man trying to blackmail him? Yuuri was quick to respond, absolutely sure of the truth of his response—

“No one would care.”

The man seemed to consider this.

“No, I guess not. No one ever expected anything better from you.”

The man reached out to grab Yuuri’s wrist, but Yuuri managed to step further away out of the man’s reach. And then without a second thought, Yuuri was running. Out of the club, out onto the street.

He realized he was crying.

He heard someone calling behind him, but he ignored it. He ignored it until someone caught up to him and grabbed him by the shoulder.

He spun around and curled in on himself. “Please, don’t,” he begged, closing his eyes tightly and rubbing palms against them. God, his head hurt.

“Yuuri, what’s wrong? What happened?”

The voice wasn’t rough and male. It was still a little gruff, but it was female, and familiar.

He opened his eyes.

“Minako?”

“Yuuri, what happened? What’s wrong?” Minako was looking at him, her eyes big with worry. Yuuri hated worry. He hated it and the attention and scrutiny it brought.

“Nothing,” he said, stepping back and straightening up. “I’m fine.”

And with that he began to walk away.

Minako didn’t call after him, and he was relieved for that.

He got into a cab and took it to the only place he wanted to go on a night like this.

He spent the ride trying to push the thoughts out of his mind, but instead his mind was instinctively trying to remember.

His mind supplied him with images of himself down on his knees on the floor of a toilet stall in front of that man. It supplied him with the phantom feeling of fingers curled in his hair, hands pushing and pulling on his head.

But they weren’t memories.

But yet even if he couldn’t remember it, it had happened. Or at least something like it had.

He got to the rink and went inside, quickly putting on his skates as if he would die if they weren’t on his feet for another second.

About a month ago, he’d figured out how to get the rinks audio system to work, so now he could skate with Viktor’s music completely surrounding him. It would envelop him.

He took to the center of the rink. He’d set another track to play before Viktor’s free skate music, so he’d have time to get back to the rink from the control booth. He’d hurried out on to the ice and was now waiting for the track to finish.

He took a deep breath, trying to ground himself. In a few more moments the only thing he’d have to think about was the program. Sometimes he wondered why before skating had been the source of his anxiety, and now it was one of the only things that relieved it. Maybe it had just been the pressure. Before he’d had to skate for his family, for Ono, for Celestino, for Phichit, for Japan, for the entire goddamn world. Now he was only skating for himself, to drown himself in the technique and the art of it. To make himself forget everything else.

Before he’d spent every second of his programs thinking, “Was that step the step of a champion? Was that jump worthy of gold?” He’d spent the entire program terrified of a misstep, terrified of a fall.

Now though he was alone, and skating for himself. He didn’t even care if he fell. If he did, it was his fault and his fault alone, and its effects were painted on his skin, no one else’s.

Of course, he’d stopped falling weeks ago, and the bruises against his skin were fading—the loop and the axel coming along at record pace with the flip. They still weren’t all clean, or always landed well, but the rotations were there, and he only occasionally fell completely, more often only touching down or stumbling a bit.

He still didn’t have his quad salchow, but he admittedly wasn’t really working on it, now too determined to push his other quads closer and closer to consistency and perfection.

That drive to be better that Yuuri had had until the time leading up to when he’d walked off the ice was back, but this time he wasn’t being driven mad by a lack of results and general failure. Finally, he was working on improving and doing so in a way that felt so satisfying.

Yuuri had always been so far behind other senior skaters with his technical skill, relying on his performance to give him a shot at a medal. But now with four quads, he was better than even. The number of skaters with more than three quads ratified was a tiny club. A few older skaters like Georgi had ratified four throughout their careers, although at this point only usually competed with two or three. Most of the best younger skaters right now only had two or three ratified. Even Chris, who was pretty consistently over the past few seasons ranked right behind Viktor, only had just ratified a third quad at the European Championships last season. And _only_ Viktor had all of them, being the first skater in history to ratify five quads.

Yuuri was so close to greatness, finally, _finally_ , but yet so far. Here in Ice Castle very well could have been the second-best skater in the world now. But the world would never know that. He’d never get a chance to ratify his quads in competition. He’d never get a chance to compete against Viktor or anyone else again.

Finally, thankfully, the track finished and there was a crushing silence that cleared Yuuri’s mind of rambling thoughts.

A traitorous thought entered his mind—Minako was right. Skating was it for him. Nothing else would ever be enough. And at least everything else he tried would probably destroy him ten times more.

The phantom feeling of hands on his head.

_No._

The free skate music started, and Yuuri started skating and he let the music blanket him.

He thought about his feet. He thought about his arms. He thought about his body. He was in control.

Every movement was calculated, and with the music he brought them to life.

He was in control.

The quad flip was coming up, but Yuuri was hardly even bothered anymore. He could land it, and if for some reason he didn’t it didn’t matter. It just really didn’t matter.

Take off, toe pick launch, onetwothreefour, foot down, turnout and glide.

And then he was on to the next thing, and then the next, and the next, until he found himself in the middle of the ice, arms posed, chest stuck out triumphantly.

Then the music stopped, and it was silent.

Yuuri collapsed down on the ice, sobbing.

He cried harder than he’d let himself cry in months. He’d held everything in, put his feelings onto the ice, but now it was all out there, and he couldn’t suppress it anymore.

Yuuri was so busy crying that he didn’t notice Minako, standing across the rink in the shadows, her mouth open in a silent gasp, a cell phone clutched in her hands.

It was probably for the best.


	3. Southern Japan - Summer/Fall 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God, he needed a—well, actually he wasn’t sure what he needed anymore.
> 
> He certainly didn’t _have_ much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos or commented, it means a lot to me!

Yuuri woke up the next morning (or early afternoon technically) to find more notifications than usual on his phone.

For a while after the Grand Prix final, he’d kept his phone turned off. He couldn’t bear to face it for weeks. Eventually though, he turned it back on, and went through the process of deleting everything while reading as little of it as possible. It wasn’t actually that daunting of a task, to his relief. There had been about a dozen calls and texts from Celestino, a couple emails from sponsors that he was sure Celestino had taken care of, a couple from his family and Yuuko that were sent before he’d returned the Japan, and then maybe a hundred texts from Phichit, but most of them said about the same thing. 

But after a month of ignoring texts and calls, everyone finally got the message and stopped trying to contact him. Phichit still sent him a text every week or so. Most of them were really casual, clearly trying to pretend nothing had happened—sharing an anecdote about his day or something he’d seen on social media. Occasionally there was one that was a bit rawer, one that expressed sadness or worry. Even one that expressed anger at Yuuri for abandoning him. That had hurt Yuuri, being confronted with the fact that he had hurt Phichit. But then the next week came a picture of Phichit’s hamsters, and so Yuuri went back to trying to forget.

This morning though Phichit had sent him about half a dozen texts, and there were two calls from an unknown number, plus a voice message.

Yuuri doubted he could bring himself to listen to the message, but he could at least skim Phichit’s texts before deleting them.

_Yuuri, I think you need to see this._

The first message read, and below was a link.

 _Nope_ , Yuuri thought,  _not today. I can’t do this today_.

Phichit did this all the time, but only occasionally did Yuuri get himself to look at whatever he sent. A couple times they were dumb fluff pieces or celebrity gossip that Yuuri didn't mind rolling his eyes at. Sometimes though, they were updates from the skating world, usually about Viktor. News that Viktor had won the world championship again, gossip about his personal life, rumors about his program for the upcoming year and his new training regimen, all matters of things Yuuri didn't want to think about. 

But he continued to skim down the list of messages.

_I don’t know if you had anything to do with this, but if you don’t already know, you need to._

_But I have a feeling you didn’t want anyone to see the video._

Yuuri’s heart stopped. What video?

Yuuri’s mind span.

Had someone taken something in the club? Had that man made good on his threat to blackmail him? Yuuri’s hands began to shake, and he ignored the rest of Phichit’s texts as he clicked on the link, needing to know.

YouTube opened up, to a video titled “Yuri on Ice.” It had only been posted that very day but yet already had over 10,000 views.

Yuuri was immediately relieved, but then the horror quickly returned.

What was this?

He clicked play and the video buffered for an agonizing few seconds before beginning to play. Yuuri watched and saw himself standing in the center of the rink at Ice Castle. Music started playing and Yuuri started skating.

It was the program he had skated last night (or this morning technically).

But who on earth had filmed him?

Although Yuuri guessed there were only so many candidates.

Yuuri thought about closing out of the video instantly, but he couldn’t. He hadn’t seen himself skate in months. Back when he was training for competition, he’d watched videos of himself skating often, so he could analyze his technique, make sure he was getting full rotations, figure out how to land things more cleanly, etc.

A part of him had been wondering all these months if maybe he actually wasn’t getting better. Maybe he was so drunk all the time he thought he was, but really wasn’t. Maybe he had been so drunk he’d been miscounting rotations, thinking doubles were quads. Maybe he’d confused a feeling of grace with the freedom of sloppiness.

That honestly would have made more sense than him getting drastically better.

But seeing himself now, in the video, Yuuri realized that what he had been feeling wasn’t a lie. The skate was impressive. Not flawless, of course, he couldn’t expect that, training without a coach and in the way he had been. But still, it was phenomenal none the less. Easily the best skate of Yuuri’s life. He wasn’t a judge, but he could imagine that if he’d skated that program in competition, it would have beaten his personal best on its technical difficulty alone. And while it definitely wouldn’t have been clean enough to beat Viktor’s world championship winning and record-breaking performances of it, it would have been nearly, almost, bordering on what could be considered in broad terms  _close_.

He watched himself land the quad flip, and gasped instinctively, like he couldn’t believe he had done it, even though so plainly there was now proof that he had.

He watched until the very end, when the music stopped and Yuuri collapsed down on the ice in tears, the picture of raw vulnerability. Only then did the video end.

Yuuri sat there for a moment, frozen. Then he decided to click back to Phichit’s texts.

_I just wanted you to know I’m so proud of you. I have no idea what you’ve been going through, what you’ve gone through. I’m sorry I wasn’t more help to you these past few years, I feel like there is something more I should have done. But Yuuri, you’re amazing. I always knew it. But I’m glad now the world gets to know too._

_I would be honored if one day I could share the rink with you again._

Yuuri felt tears well up in his eyes, and after a few moments of inner turmoil, he let them out. He’d cried so much yesterday, but these tears were different. He cried this time not because of what had been done to him, but because of how alone and isolated he’d let himself become. He cried for the people that loved him that he’d pushed away and left to worry. He cried because the world had seen him perform now, as he always wished they could have seen him. He cried because of what it took to get him there. He cried because even if no one else knew really what had fueled that performance, the world was now bearing witness to the trauma he’d endured over the past nearly six months.

The realization crashed over Yuuri again, as his mind put the word to it—trauma.

That was an exaggeration, right?

He believed it was an exaggeration. He had to.

_Hands where he didn’t want them, he was shoving people away._

_Phantom hands on his head. Phantom hands pulling his hair._

God, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d let someone really see him cry, and now the world could.

The shame crashed over him.

God, he needed a—well, actually he wasn’t sure what he needed anymore.

He certainly didn’t  _have_  much.

His phone rang in his hand, the same number he’d missed before.

Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to answer it.

Then there was a knock on his bedroom door.

Yuuri froze, not sure what to do. Tears were still streaming down his face.

 _What did it matter now if someone saw him like this?_  he supposed

“Who is it?” Yuuri called, trying to make his voice sound steady, but hiccupping a bit.

No one answered.

He wiped his eyes furiously, although he knew that they would still be obviously red and swollen.

“Is someone there?” he asked.

Then, curiosity got the better of him, and Yuuri got up and opened the door.

Yuuri felt something snap inside him, as he saw who stood there.

Ono. His old coach. One of the first people in the world who had truly believed in him.

And here he was like he’d walked out of a nostalgic fever dream.

Yuuri hadn’t seen the man, the man that for several years he spent all of his time with, saw more than his parents, in two years now.

“Yuuri,” Ono said softly, and it was enough.

His name pushed against him, and broke Yuuri apart.

It was enough to cause Yuuri to collapse against the man’s chest in a fit of tears.

It was enough for Yuuri to stay there, even after he realized what he was doing.

Ono wrapped his arms around his former student and let him sob. Let him sob for Yuuri could not even guess how long. But they stood there, in the doorway of Yuuri’s bedroom, until Yuuri had cried himself dry of tears, until he was sure he would drown on his own snot.

Yuuri finally pulled away, embarrassed to see the large wet spot he’d left on Ono’s shirt.

Ono saw the look and made a gesture as if to say,  _think nothing of it_.

Yuuri, was suddenly overtaken by another, although this time less devastating, wave of shame, as he remembered his manners and quickly offered his former coach a seat in his desk chair.

Yuuri sat down on the edge of the bed across from the much older man, and for a few moments, there was silence.

Then, finally, Ono spoke.

“I found you a new coach.”

“What?” Yuuri asked, “But I’m not—,” but Ono cut him off.

“Yuuri, do not lie to me.”

For a second, Yuuri let himself feel confused. He let himself feel like Ono telling Yuuri he’d be entering competitive skating again was coming out of nowhere. But then the idea settled, and he knew it had already been there. It was a decision that he’d subconsciously made last night. It was a decision that he’d less subconsciously been considering for weeks, when skating became more and more the only thing that made him feel, well, anything besides shame and panic and anger and sorrow.

But he hadn’t figured out how to come back though, he didn’t see a way back, so he’d continued floating along, coping as best as he could, but new habits dying almost as hard as old ones.

But he needed skating. God, even if he never stood on a podium the rest of his career, failing at skating would be better than his life without it,

He’d left the club last night, knowing that he’d never be able to go back. He’d let himself be… there for months now, and had ignored it, had pretended the good outweighed the bad. Had pretended he needed it enough to justify it hurting him sometimes.

But without the club, and the alcohol and dancing and  _hands_ he didn’t have anything besides skating.

Skating was his everything. He’d been unable to replace it.

And now, here was Ono sitting in his childhood bedroom, giving him a way back.

So, Yuuri let the idea settle with him, and instead of arguing or refusing, or doing any of the things he might have done six months ago, he let his lips curl into a small, albeit slightly sad, smile.

“I take it you don’t mean you?”

“No,” Ono shook his head firmly. “I’m still retired, Yuuri. And I’m not what you need. And I think that you know that.”

Yuuri instinctively wanted to say that he did not, in fact, know that. But instead he only nodded sadly.

Ono continued, “There is a woman, Kanako Odagaki, who has been working with a very talented young skater in Hakata who is preparing to make his senior debut. She would be willing to take you on as well. You could commute there if you like. Or, if you’d like a change of pace I’m sure she’d help you find an apartment closer to the facility she coaches out of.”

Yuuri considered the information. It was a lot. A lot all at once.

“Is there some kind of catch?”

Ono laughed softly.

“No catch, although the young skater, Kenjirou Minami, who will be your new rink mate is quite a fan of yours, something I’m sure you will struggle to accept.”

“What do you mean? I don’t have fans. And if I ever did, I certainly don’t now.”

Ono sighed.

“Oh, Yuuri, you are greatly admired. Your fans have been… sympathetic to you recently and have given you distance. But like it or not, you’re something of a legend in Japan. And I doubt since I can’t even get you to answer your phone you’ve been following the news, but your walk off has become instantly… notorious,” Ono said, carefully selecting his words.

“It would be a notorious performance as well if someone came out on the ice and did their program naked. It hardly means it’s a good thing,” Yuuri retorted instantly and a bit more offhandedly than he’d allowed himself to in a while. He blushed a bit as he realized what he’d said to his rather stately former mentor.

Ono laughed again, this time a bit stronger.

“The responses weren’t _all_ negative, you know.”

“What could they possibly have had to say that was positive? To give up like that, it’s cowardly,” Yuuri said, looking away.

“Yuuri, I don’t know what has happened to you after the Grand Prix final, but I think that walking off the ice was the bravest thing you’ve ever done.”

Yuuri’s brow furrowed and he sat there in confused shock.  _What?_

“How is giving up brave?”

“Giving up, or at least taking a step back, from something you love when it is hurting you is one of the bravest things a person can do. Your decisions after you left that arena, I’ll admit, do not seem to have been ones founded in courage. But refusing to let yourself hurt any longer, that is a brave thing.”

Yuuri sat in silence, not sure what to say.

“So,” Ono broke the silence, “Will you train with Ms. Odagaki?”

Yuuri paused for a second, thinking it all over one more time.

A part of him wanted more time. A part of him wanted to tell Ono he wanted more time to think and then to ignore the man until it got the message across and instead live his life hiding under his bed with his dog Vicchan.

The voice that had for so long crowded his mind chimed in _—You could fail. The skating community could reject you. You could be laughed out of arenas._

But then, to Yuuri’s great surprise, he realized the voice sounded a little smaller now, almost a little immature, and could be brushed aside with only a medium amount of effort.

“Okay,” he agreed.

* * *

 

“Ono said there would be no catch!” Yuuri exclaimed.

“Ono did not know. A friend of yours reached out and asked me to consider it, and I think that I agree,” Kanako said.

Ono had arranged for Yuuri to meet his potential new coach for a meal, to go over expectations for one another, and get a feeling for it they were a good match. It had been going well, until now.

“What friend?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“But,” Yuuri sputtered, unsure what to say. “But I’m better.”

“Do you really believe that, Yuuri? Six months ago, you were suffering from a nervous break so severe that the thought of skating a minute longer was unbearable. Then you spent six months in a period that has only been described to me in loose terms, and even still Ono and your friend only had the faintest idea, but has none the less been referred to as a dark period. Just because you are beginning to feel comfortable with the idea of skating competitively again, does not mean that you are magically one-hundred percent fixed.”

Yuuri sat silently, forced to consider what she’d said.

And she was right, he knew, righter than she even knew. He was functioning again, interacting with the world again, but maybe that wasn’t supposed to be the standard by which he lived his life.

He had nightmares, sometimes, now—a rather recent development—of things happening to him, of him being made to do things in the dark. But they were only at night when he was alone, and only sometimes, and didn’t affect his ability to get out of bed in the morning.

And he’d begun to miss the bruises on his skin, so he’d begun working on the quad axel, a jump that he never expected given his strength and frame to be able to do. Maybe no one would be able to do it, ever, in all honesty, certainly not consistently enough and safely enough to seriously consider trying in competition. Four and a half rotations are a lot to ask the human body to accomplish.

Yuuri had managed to get four quads down relatively consistently in only a few months without working with a coach or any real proper off the ice training that usually accompanied learning those kinds of skills. That was already the biggest miracle of achieving perfect circumstances without feeling like he was putting in any extraordinary effort that Yuuri could possibly imagine ever experiencing. He would not become the first person to be able to land a quad axel in competition. And saying he could not do a quad axel was not a Chekov’s gun. As long as he possessed the body he did, it was simply very likely not going to be possible.

But yet he tried anyway, just so he could fall. The bruises didn’t affect his performance, and he’d yet to fall in a way that seriously hurt him, even though it was of course a growing risk. The fact that he’d fallen so much and never injured himself was an improbable thing. The fact that he’d trained his body so brutally without it literally snapping on impact even just once was an improbable thing. Attempting jumps he didn’t even know how to land wasn’t helping the matter. He knew if he kept it up he was going to end up with an injury to his hips, his legs, his arms, his head—any and all parts of his body were at risk.

But, he only ever tried that jump when he was alone, when there was no one to see him and worry and call him out on his insanity.

So, it was fine. No one knew, and it was fine.

Yuuri sighed and fought the feeling of hollowness in his stomach.

Maybe just being back to a level of mental illness that he could hide was not ideal.

He could tell that to himself. He knew that that made sense. He knew that it was reasonable to think he was worthy of more.

But then, like so many other things he logically knew to be true about himself and his life, he didn’t really, truly believe it.

And he certainly hadn’t known anything else, for as long as he remembered, he hadn’t known anything else other than being just okay enough to function.

Any other possible reality was a terrifying unknown.

“Yuuri, what’s going on in that head of yours?” Kanako asked.

Yuuri realized he must have been silent for several minutes.

He sighed. Admitting you need help is the first step, right?

“Okay, I’ll go…to therapy,” Yuuri struggled to get out the words, them feeling ridiculous in his mouth.

Kanako smiled.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear it, or won’t know how to respond to it, but already Yuuri, I’m so proud of you. And I know that feeling will only grow as we work together moving forwards.”

She was right. Yuuri didn’t know how to respond to that kind of blatant statement of belief and support.

All he could do was shyly duck his head to try and hide his blush.

* * *

 

Yuuri had decided to commute to Hakata, taking the hour-long train ride there from Hasetsu. He’d train formally in Hakata with Kanako five days a week for six or so hours a day, and then he could train by himself in Hasetsu if he wanted to get some extra practice on his days away or in the early morning or evenings, whether that meant running his routines at ice castle or doing fitness training at the gym or jogging around town.

Most importantly to Yuuri though, he’d finally gotten the courage to go through the boxes in the storage closet and take out his old skates. They felt a little cold and stiff on his feet the first time he put them on, but he was sure they’d go back to feeling like a part of him quickly enough.

And then also importantly to Yuuri, he’d been told anyway, although he wasn’t quite as inclined to agree—Kanako had helped him find a therapist who had experience with working with people in highly demanding careers, and athletes in particular. She was unfortunately based in Tokyo, but they would have sessions weekly over video chat. In several months Yuuri would be traveling the world again for competition, so it made sense anyway.

Deciding that Yuuri would compete that year was a long discussion. Yuuri hadn’t, exactly, taken six months off, not really. But Yuuri's ISU ranking had tanked after the Grand Prix final, and he hadn't competed at Nationals or Worlds, meaning that in order to qualify for the Grand Prix series, he’d have his first qualifying competition in early October, in hopes of maybe being given one of the invitations Japan received as a host country, and it was currently mid-July.

Three months was plenty of time to put together a short program and free skate, but it was cutting it close, particularly since Yuuri was coming off of several months of severly questionable methods of rigorous training, with habits that Kanako told Yuuri flat out that she expected to spend a lot of time undoing.

In fact, Kanako was worried not that Yuuri had taken too much time off to compete this year, but rather that he was at risk for injury and exhaustion if he came off of four months of intense training, into the kind of intense training he’d need to prepare his programs, and then into competition.

He hadn’t gotten more than 6 hours of sleep in months, and those hours were almost never actually at night. He’d been training on average five or six hours a day, which was relatively normal for an athlete of Yuuri's caliber, maybe even a little on the short side, if you didn’t consider context. But in reality, if a skater is training for six to eight hours a day, that included stretching, and conditioning, and strength training, and endurance training, and skating your routines, and running drills, and practicing elements, and sitting down with specialists who would come in and watch your routines and tell you to hold your arms tighter to land certain jumps more consistently, and off ice training, and checking in with a physical therapist or doctor or nutritionist, and maybe even a getting a massage or some acupuncture, and most importantly taking several breaks.

Training for six hours did not, generally, mean skating highly advanced programs again and again and again for hours upon hours, on top of three to four hours of the cardio of sorts that Yuuri got dancing, past the point of complete exhaustion.

Before she even allowed Yuuri to step foot on the rink in Hakata, Kanako demanded that Yuuri spend a week relaxing, absolutely no skating or any kind of exercise at all. He was to be in bed for eight, preferably nine hours a night, even if he couldn’t always get himself to sleep. He would soak in the hot springs. He’d watch movies and read books and drink a lot of tea and even have a pork cutlet bowl or two. He’d go to the beach and lie in the sand. If he got too restless he could take a walk, no more than a kilometer or two.

And so Yuuri did those things. And he had to admit, for the first three days it was nice. But by the fourth day, Yuuri was bored out of his mind. He began taking more walks. At first, he’d take his dog, hoping that it would encourage him to stay within Kanako’s distance limit. But then he dropped Vicchan off at home once the dog got tired and went back out by himself and wandered further. And the next day he went for a jog, that turned into a 10 K. And then by the sixth day he was back at Ice Castle.

 _Six days is nearly a week_ , he’d told himself.

But Kanako didn’t seem to think so.

As punishment (Kanako had called it a  _consequence_ ), Yuuri found himself benched on his first official day of training.

Which would have been frustrating enough, if he hadn’t been tasked instead with coaching his new rink mate.

Yuuri was, historically, not very great with people as it was. And he certainly did not have the leadership skills or confidence to coach someone. And certainly not his new fifteen-year-old rink mate Kenjirou Minami, who reminded Yuuri a bit of Phichit in his energy levels but was unlike anyone Yuuri had ever met before in regard to his complete and total adoration of Yuuri and excitement for the sport of figure skating.

He could only pray that the teen would eventually get over it as he began to get to know Yuuri.

“So you can land a quad flip? Like Viktor Nikiforov! Have you met Viktor? What am I saying of course you’ve met Viktor, you both skated at the Grand Prix final last year! What was that like? I mean, you obviously were struggling with something, but even still just being there—wow! I hope I make it to the final someday. I made it to the junior Grand Prix finals, and medaled, I don’t know if you know that. But since I’m making my senior debut so young, Kanako says I can’t expect to soar right to the top. But even still, you were Japan’s national champion the year of your senior debut! But you were a bit older than me, I guess. And now that you’re back this year, I suppose you’ll regain the title.

“But anyway, can you teach me how to do a quad flip? I’ve almost sort of got my quad toe down…I mean I landed it once so far, but I hope to add it in later this season, but I need more than one. Wow—I mean if I could do the flip, that would really jumpstart my senior career. I’m definitely going to need it. With you and Viktor, that will be gold and silver at every competition right there. And then for third there are so many skaters who are older and more experienced than me. You were friends with Phichit Chulanont right? He’s supposed to be pretty up and coming from what I’ve heard. And then there’s always Chris Giacometti. And the other Russian skater who isn’t Viktor, what’s his name? I don’t know, maybe I’ll have to wait until Viktor retires to have my time to shine. But then I guess we all do. He’s what though, twenty-six? So, unless he’s really stubborn he’ll only have two or three more years at most. And then I’ll be eighteen or nineteen and in my prime. Can you imagine being world champion someday? Wow—I can only dream.”

Yuuri took the briefest moment of pause in Kenjirou’s babbling to speak.

“Um, hey, why not instead of a quad flip, you start by showing me the most difficult jump you’re working on right now?” Yuuri asked.

Kenjirou’s eyes lit up.

“Besides the quad toe loop, I’ve been working on landing triple salchow more consistently— I know I should have it stronger by now, I have all my other triples and I’ve been working on the quad toe, but I still fall on it far more than I do any other jump.”

“Great!” Yuuri said, trying to display enthusiasm he wasn’t quite sure he really felt, but felt like he was supposed to have. “I used to struggle with that one as well. I only began to land it consistently a few months ago.”

“You learned a triple salchow  _and_  a quad flip in just a few months?” Kenjirou asked.

“My circumstances were…unique,” Yuuri admitted hesitantly. “I would not recommend what I went through to learn all of my triples and quads that quickly.”

“All of your quads?” the teen gasped.

Yuuri groaned. Too much information. He’d need to work on that. He’d never been good at lying, which was annoying. It was why he isolated himself when he wasn’t doing well, his therapist had helped him surmise in one of their first few sessions, although he had yet to sort out the implications of such a concept besides the implicit ones. He was currently working on finding balance, figuring out when to be honest and with what people, and when being selective of what he gave away to others didn’t at all count as lying.

“Not all of them. I’m still working on the salchow. And they aren’t all very clean, I’m going to have to work a lot this season to fix them up. And, of course, I can’t do an Axel,” Yuuri explained. “But come on, show me the triple.” He thought he sounded like a bad actor in a bad movie, his enthusiasm far more performative than genuine.

But Kenjirou, thankfully, went along with it.

“Yes, sir!” he said with a mock salute.

And with that the teen skated off and Yuuri enjoyed the few blissful minutes of silence, no sounds other than blades scraping against the ice.

* * *

 

A month passed, and Yuuri was beginning to think that Ono had been on to something when he’d paired Yuuri and Kanako. And even more shockingly, he was beginning to see that maybe Kanako had been on to something when she continued to ask Yuuri to take on a sort of an informal assistant coach role to Kenjirou. Lots of skaters shared coaches but kept to themselves and their schedules besides a professional camaraderie, particularly when big age differences were involved. The friendship Yuuri had with Phichit had been special, and now what he was developing with Kenjirou was kind of special as well, although in an entirely different way.

The kid had an alarming level of energy, but Yuuri being forced to spend time in a position as role model was perhaps giving Yuuri more confidence as an authority in skating, and more confidence interacting with people.

He’d agreed to do an interview about a week ago, after announcing his plan to return formally, and while he kept it brief, instead of stuttering and using as few words in his answers as possible, terrified of saying the wrong thing or having someone judge him if he misstated something, Yuuri had spoken clearly and professionally. He’d explained in vague but honest terms that he was dealing with some personal struggles that made him, although perhaps a little too suddenly and late all at once, realize he needed to take a break from skating. He stated, nearly almost actually feeling confident, that he knew now he was prepared to come back stronger than ever.

Kenjirou and Yuuri’s relationship was still a bit forced sometimes, mind you, but at the very least Yuuri being given the opportunity to be a leader was giving him the practice he needed if he ever wanted to have the poise off the ice that Yuuri knew was really needed for a champion.

But then, Yuuri would later suppose, inevitably, something changed between Kenjirou and himself.

Kenjirou and Kanako had had to leave early from training one day for a meeting with a potential new sponsor for Kenjirou. Yuuri decided he’d stay, however, and practice until his usual train home. The rink was nearly deserted, besides a few miscellaneous staff occasionally popping in and out. Some skating classes were set to occur later in the evening, but for now, Yuuri had the rink to himself.

He’d decided to work on his quad salchow, even though he knew he shouldn’t have.

It took several sessions before Yuuri finally admitted to his therapist that he’d been doing challenging jumps hoping to tank them.

His therapist had immediately labeled this as a kind of self-harm. Yuuri in the back of his mind had initially thought she was being overdramatic, putting it in those terms. Athletes fell and were injured all the time, it was an occupational hazard. He knew that it wasn’t essentially the healthiest aspect of being an athlete, but it was hardly the same as real self-harm.

But his therapist had pushed Yuuri, gently, but encouragingly, to begin to think about it as what she claimed it was. And then they’d begun working on distinguishing when Yuuri accidently harmed himself as a side effect of being an athlete and when he was doing it because he wanted to hurt himself. They’d been talking, as well, about different methods he could try to use to cope with his feelings besides flinging himself at high speeds into a sheet of ice.

And, as the final step of the beginning of Yuuri’s healing, he’d made a deal with his therapist to not attempt to learn any more jumps for a while, until he was on more stable footing with being able to distinguish the sources of his feelings and then respond to them appropriately.

It had been easy, for Yuuri, to stop working on the quad axel. That quickly made sense to Yuuri as something that he was only doing with ill intentions toward himself. But the salchow, well, he really wanted to land it. He wanted to have all five quads. He wanted to be able to one by one surprise the audience over the next season or two as he unveiled them.

He thought, rather bitterly, that therapy was supposed to be helping become better able to be a stronger skater, not a weaker one.

He wanted to win, and he’d need the salchow to do it.

So, on his time alone on this rink, Yuuri worked on the salchow.

The first time, he landed it with a touch down to the ice. Then he’d fallen. Third time he’d landed it with a wobble. And then he fell. And then he fell. And he landed it with a bigger wobble. And then he fell. And then he fell. And then he fell. And then he fell. And then he was crying, as he was splayed out across the ice again.

He pushed himself up again, ignoring the tears and the pain and preparing for another jump. He went crashing into the ice after three and a half rotations. He pulled himself up onto his knees but then fell forwards, pounding his fists on the ice.

“Yuuri!” he heard a panicked voice cry.

He looked up to see Kenjirou slipping across the ice in his street shoes, skidding over to Yuuri.

Yuuri quickly tried to compose himself, but he realized that the damage was likely already done.

“What are you doing back, Minami?” he asked, tiredly.

“What where you,” Kenjirou tried and then paused, words seeming to fail him. “Why were you,” he stopped again.

Yuuri sighed.

“How long have you been here?”

“The meeting with the sponsor was cancelled,” the teen began to explain, still sounding frantic with worry, but seeming relieved to be able to find words again. “Kanako had to go deal with some business, but I came back to practice. I saw you working on the quad salchow and decided to watch instead. You were struggling, but every few times you’d get it. But then you just kept falling and you just kept going anyway even though you were—” Kenjirou paused, “Why did you keep going even though you kept falling?”

Yuuri just looked at the teen, unsure how to even begin to explain.

He took a deep breath, trying to bring himself to make a decision. He would have to say something, do something, eventually. He couldn’t just stay here on the ice forever, having a staring contest with the teen.

He settled on honesty. His therapist had told him that while it was important to not let yourself be too open all the time, given his position in the spotlight and also simply his vulnerability as a human being, it was important to be transparent whenever possible. And more importantly it was important to be vulnerable with people whom he cared about and was close to.

And maybe if he was transparent and vulnerable with Kenjirou, his therapist would forgive him for doing the salchows. (Probably not.)

“It’s how I learned all the jumps I did between the Grand Prix and when I started training with you and Kanako,” Yuuri admitted. It wasn’t too explicit of an admission, but it was enough for the teen to seem to understand.

Kenjirou’s eyes grew wide and he opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Yuuri could have almost laughed. The boy was finally completely speechless!

Yuuri took the opportunity to keep talking.

“I know it’s a dangerous and frankly not even very productive way to learn jumps,” he stated firmly. “But sometimes old habits die hard, I guess.” He offered Kenjirou a half smile. Then he dropped his voice low, and admitted, softly, “I still have bad days. Today was the first day in a while, actually, where I started thinking like I was before the Grand Prix Final, where I started thinking about how badly I needed to win, instead of how badly I need to skate. I know it sounds a bit odd, but skating has to come before winning. You can’t win if you can’t skate, but you can skate if you don’t win.”

Kenjirou opened his mouth again, but before it was to be determined if this time words could actually form, Yuuri spoke again.

“But you came here to practice, didn’t you? I think I’m done for the day, why don’t we run your short program?”

The teen looked at Yuuri for a couple seconds more, with a look that Yuuri couldn’t begin to interpret, but he hoped and imagined it was like if he was finally seeing Yuuri, not Japan’s former national champion, or a skater who had competed against Viktor Nikiforov, or someone who made it to the final of the Grand Prix, but just Yuuri, for the first time.

After another moment, Kenjirou nodded his head, and left the ice to go put on his skates.

* * *

 

The following two months were a whirlwind of training. Kanako had hired a choreographer for Yuuri’s programs and had encouraged Yuuri to work with him to create programs that were meaningful to Yuuri. It was a new level of freedom and involvement that Yuuri hadn’t had before in his skating—previously besides maybe arguing up a jump from a double to a triple, Yuuri hadn’t had any input in his programs, ever. He’d never even gone as far as to select his own music.

Having a say in everything though, filled a space deep inside Yuuri that he’d never realized had been empty. Yuuri had always been praised for his artistry, his emotion, his storytelling. It had always been what he loved most about skating. Having a piece of himself in the program before it was even finished was intensely satisfying to Yuuri, and it gave him hope upon hope that this season, whether or not he managed to medal none the less win, was still going to be his personal best.

His programs were the most technically difficult he’d ever attempted, making use of three of the four quads between the short program and the free skate, with a total of four total quads over all. He’d maximized the points of the required elements in the short program as much as he possibly could—including both a triple Axel and a quad, and while he didn’t want to marathon quads just for the point in the free skate and risk exhausting himself and losing precision or artistry, he had settled on including a still solidly ambitious three for now and would up the number later in the season once he saw how the competition looked after he’d seen other skaters programs.

And then, in addition to the technical difficulty of his programs, they were also, quite frankly, as far as Yuuri was concerned, his most beautiful.

The short program was skated to a slow melodic piece that was so beautiful Yuuri felt like the music alone could make his heart stop, and he so easily put that emotion into the piece. And then, for his free skate, the music started off slowly, similar to the short program, but quickly grew furious with power and energy before slowing down to almost a lazy pace, before building back up to a triumphant ending. He’d decided to title that piece, which he had commissioned just for his program, “Yuri on Ice,” as a way to reclaim the video that had been posted without his permission but had so profoundly affected his life.

It had taken a couple of months for Minako to admit she’d posted it. Yuuri, though, had really already knew, or at least strongly suspected. And he couldn’t find it within himself to be too mad. A little disappointed at the betrayal, but he could summon no fury.

His relationship with his family and friends from home was something he was still working on. Now with his new coach and the commute, it was easy to see very little of any of them. And even though he still spent a great deal of time at Ice Castle, no longer in the middle of the night even, his relationship with Yuuko and Takeshi was a bit strained.

He knew he’d need to apologize. He knew he’d need to make a serious effort to make amends. But he was just so busy right now. He was trying, when he could, but he felt so awkward around the people who had witnessed his breakdown, and with every second that passed by without truly acknowledging it, it only got harder.

Soon though, October had arrived, and Yuuri, along with Kenjirou, prepared to skate in the qualifiers for Japan’s national championship, both of them hoping to earn a high enough score to qualify for the Grand Prix series, ignoring the fact that unless someone withdrew, there was probably only room for one of them.

They were at the regional qualifiers, which were being held in Fukuoka. The competition overall was small, and the arena was relatively small as well, and Yuuri found himself glad this was where he got to skate publicly for the first time since the Grand Prix. This was not like the Grand Prix final, or like any of the other international competitions that Yuuri had always struggled with. This kind of competition was familiar in a comfortable, nostalgic way—like back when he first started skating competitively at novice competitions and then into juniors at local skate club and national competitions around Japan.

So far everything was going smoothly. Warm up came and went, and Yuuri decided not to try any of his jumps, knowing how if he faltered even a little bit it could wreak havoc on his nerves. Kenjirou had spent the morning vibrating with energy though, which Yuuri had to admit was rubbing off on him a bit.

He was standing beside the rink with his rink mate after the warm up, rolling his eyes at something Kenjirou had said, when suddenly he heard a scream.

Yuuri felt panic coarse through him, instinctively. 

Yuuri turned his head to where the noise had come from, and when his eyes landed on the thing, the person, that had been the cause of the scream, Yuuri’s heart stopped.

Viktor Nikiforov was half way up the stands, now facing a young woman who had become reduced to tears before him.

Viktor looked a bit uncomfortable, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in what looked to be a nervous gesture, but he smiled politely at the woman.

He looked as good as he ever did, although obviously he was not in the skating costumes Yuuri was used to seeing the man in, but rather wearing a long coat over a dark turtleneck sweater, and his hands coated in expensive looking leather gloves.

Yuuri tried to wrap his head around the situation, but his mind only provided him with more questions than answers—

Viktor Nikiforov was in Japan?

Viktor Nikiforov was in Japan at the regional national qualifiers?

Viktor Nikiforov was going to be there to watch Yuuri skate publicly for the first time in nearly a year?

_Well, fuck._


	4. Fukuoka, Japan - October 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh. My. God. Is that Viktor Nikiforov?” Kenjirou asked, slapping Yuuri repeatedly in the arm in excitement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have any music in mind for the music for the programs in this story. It could be canon music, it could be something else. However, when I was writing this chapter I listened to [It Keeps Us Dancing](https://open.spotify.com/album/4q2HEo5tjZTNeUlYawQEso) by The Family Crest (for Yuuri) and [Howl](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PucVbDTwnrE) also by The Family Crest (for Minami).

“Oh. My. God. Is that Viktor Nikiforov?” Kenjirou asked, slapping Yuuri repeatedly in the arm in excitement.

Yuuri nodded, his heart beginning to beat again as he processed the situation. He swatted Kenjirou’s hand away and rubbed his arm protectively.

“What do you think he’s doing here?”

Yuuri shrugged, honestly not even having the faintest idea.

He was very quickly feeling surprisingly unbothered by the surprise attendee. A year ago, this kind of thing might have caused him to freak out, but recently, his mental relationship with Viktor had shifted, although he hadn’t given much thought to it until just now as the man stood across the arena from him.

He used to idolize Viktor. Worship him. And since his identity was built around one day being the best, Viktor, who was the best, became the sun Yuuri revolved around. He needed the man’s approval and respect and he needed to prove he was on the same level as the man.

But now, Yuuri found himself thinking of Viktor with a kind of amused fondness. He of course still revered the man as the legend he was. But Yuuri also knew Viktor Nikiforov, from everything he knew as a result of practically growing up with the man and his memories of his one interaction with him, was a charming man who was a genius, but liked to feign cluelessness, and always had something up his sleeve. He was known for his surprises. Yuuri supposed in one way or another this was just one of them.

“Oh my god, what if I tank my program, and Viktor sees me? What if I fall? What if I completely forget how to skate?” Kenjirou rambled.

Yuuri felt like laughing, as the young skater vocalized the exact monologues that had run through Yuuri’s head at points before.

“Minami, look at me,” Yuuri demanded.

“What comes first? What always comes first above all else? Above winning, above who’s watching you, what comes first?”

This had become an affirmation that they shared. When Yuuri was pushing himself too hard, when Kenjirou was freaking out about the pressure of his senior debut, they would ask each other this question.

“The skating,” Kenjirou answered solemnly, determination settling across his face.

Yuuri nodded in agreement but couldn’t help but look back across to where Viktor had been.

Another wave of surprise and confusion washed over him, as he located the Russian champion. He found that Viktor was now sitting a few rows away from the fan that had caused the disruption, intently looking down on the rink. What was a little alarming to Yuuri though, was that if he didn’t know better, he could have sworn Viktor was looking straight at him.

Just then, his focus was pulled away from Viktor, as Kanako came over to her two protegees, just returning from having had to step out to take a call.

“Did I miss anything?” she asked.

Yuuri looked at Kenjirou, and they shared a smile.

“Nothing important,” Kenjirou said, his grin widening.

 

* * *

 

They drew numbers to determine the skating order, and Yuuri found himself going last.

In all honesty, it didn’t matter to Yuuri when he skated that day. Yuuri wasn’t worried about winning. He wished that was entirely because Yuuri had magically been able to completely and totally believe his own new motto and care about skating above all other aspects of competition and performance, but in reality, Yuuri knew unless something incredibly bizarre happened, first place was his.

Although he wasn’t currently the reigning Japanese national champion, he had won it two times, being a weaker skater than he was now. And this wasn’t even the national championship, it was a regional qualifying competition. And even if he was pushed into silver, there was a chance. There may have only been one of Japan’s invitations left, but skaters got injured all the time or re-prioritized away from the Grand Prix series to focus on the regional competitions that occurred later in the year, as well as worlds. This was the spot Kenjirou was praying for, worst case scenario Yuuri could pray for it as well. And well, technically, Japan was not obligated to give an invitation to the top scoring after this qualifying competition, anyway. They could invite whoever they wanted, from any competition, at any point in time.

And there was a part of Yuuri that was hoping (that knew but lacked to confidence to openly admit even when Kanako flat out told him) that the reason why Japan had been saving its last invitation so late was because they were waiting to be able to give it to Yuuri after he announced his return a few months ago, assuming he proved the Grand Prix final was a fluke and not the new normal.

So again, Yuuri was expecting to win. Moving forwards, once Yuuri was back in international competition, he knew that expectation, that confidence would go away. He was worried, about that day, when he took to the ice at his first Grand Prix placement.

But for now, as far as Yuuri knew, he had this.

Yuuri settled in on a bench next to the rink with Kanako and Kenjirou to watch the rest of the skaters. Kenjirou would be going right before Yuuri, and Kanako seemed very pleased with this.

“Both of you are going to blow everyone away,” she said while the first skater began his short program.

Yuuri was still a little too modest to agree for himself, winning was one thing, effecting the audience was something else. Many skaters had technically exceptional programs that were frankly boring, and skaters with programs that were technically lacking had brought crowds to their feet.

Yuuri was after all a skater who got by on performance most of his career, so he knew this better than anyone.

But things were different now. His skating was different now. He knew he could win, but he was still a little nervous, although he hoped the nerves were unfounded, about how the audience would respond to the emotional impact of his program.

But he did know that Kenjirou was going to set the crowd roaring. His short program was fun and eye catching. It was obviously less technically difficult than Yuuri’s program, but Kenjirou skated it beautifully none the less with a level of energy that only the firecracker of a teen could pull off.

The programs passed quickly, and soon enough it was Kenjirou’s turn.

“Good luck Minami!” Yuuri yelled across the rink once Kenjirou had taken the ice. The teen looked at Yuuri seeming a little shocked for a moment, but then composed himself and gave him a wink, before molding himself into his programs opening position.

The program started right off the bat with an explosion of energy, and Yuuri watched as the crowd leaned forward a bit. The program enraptured the audience, more and more with every passing second.

Kenjirou was skating the program very cleanly. He wobbled a bit on his triple axel, but the fact that he was doing a triple axel in his short program at his age was already quite impressive. The program came to an end as quickly as it started, and Kenjirou stood in the middle of the rink, arms spread wide. Yuuri sprang up from the bench and applauded his rink mate furiously.

And then, it was Yuuri’s turn.

Kanako, with a few reminders and words of encouragement, left to go meet Kenjirou at the kiss and cry and Yuuri, standing alone at the entry to the rink, suddenly felt a wave of nerves wash over him. He knew he could do it. He knew he would do it. But this was the first time anyone besides Kanako, Kenjirou, and the choreographer he had worked with to create it were going to see his short program.

Hell, this was nearly the first time anyone besides Kanako, Kenjirou, and the choreographer were going to see Yuuri skate live and in person since the Grand Prix.

He felt… vulnerable.

Yuuri waited there, at the edge of the rink, for Kenjirou’s scores to be announced and for it to officially be his turn to take the ice.

Just then, Yuuri heard a gasp spread across the arena. He didn’t even have to look up at the scoreboard before a smile spread across his face, but he did anyway, as the announcers read off Kenjirou’s score.

It was as good as they could have possibly hoped. Kenjirou had scored high, his name shooting up to the top of the chart, his score a solid ten points ahead of his competitors.

Then, he heard the announcers begin to shift their focus back to Yuuri, and Yuuri took his queue to step onto the ice. He took off his jacket only at the last minute, having kept it on all through warm up, revealing his short program costume for the first time.

It was a very basic costume, little glitz and glamour, not overtly trying to be sexy or play to some kind of theme. While Yuuri’s free skate program costume was a bit more dramatic, he wanted his short program to speak for itself. His plain black top, the only embellishments being strips of black mesh running down his arms, said  _back to basics._ And it fit like the kinds of shirts he usually trained in, tight but still flexible, casual and comfortable. He even wore the sleeves a bit scrunched up on his forearms, something he'd kept doing unconsciously every time he'd tried on his costume and had given up on trying to correct.

The only touch of elegance to the costume was a pair of silky white gloves that looked like they’d been pulled off some stereotypical butler in a penguin suit. Yuuri had liked the idea of _service_ though that they represented—of keeping only things that served him and of trying better to serve those around him.

He stood in the center of the rink, holding his arms in what would have been referred to in ballet as third position. He turned his head to the side, baring his neck a bit, an inhaled deeply through his nose. Then the music started.

Yuuri lost himself, totally and completely, from that moment. Into the music, into the movement, into the artistry.

God did it feel so good to be skating. Here. To this piece.

He felt so grateful. He felt so joyous.

Yuuri landed his triple axel effortlessly, and he felt a rush of pride and excitement course through him. He’d only flubbed this jump once or twice in the past several months, but he felt as good doing it now as he remembered feeling the first time he’d ever landed it.

Then the quad, a toe loop, came and went as well. As well as the triple-triple combination.

The program felt like it was coming to an end too soon, the two minutes and fifty seconds flying by. He wasn’t even tired. He wanted more. He wanted this, forever.

You could put him in a music box and let him twirl around forever, and to Yuuri that would be heaven, in that moment he was sure.

He finished his program with his chest thrust forward and his arms flung back. He felt tears welling up in his eyes.

This, this was worth everything. He couldn’t believe he’d almost given this up.

He reveled in the glory of the moment for as long as he could.

But then he was pulled out of it, by thunderous noise.

The arena wasn’t exactly the largest Yuuri had ever been in, and while the turnout was healthy, it certainly wasn’t packed. But the noise from the crowd was like nothing he’d ever heard before.

 _That’s not true_ , he thought.  _The room always sounds like this for Viktor._

Viktor.

Curiosity overtook Yuuri, and before he could even think about it, he found himself pulling himself forward, so he was standing up straight again, and searching the crowd for the Russian champion.

He found him, standing now in the stands. He was clapping slowly and staring at Yuuri with a look of intense curiosity (and awe?)—the way he imagined that one might look at a unicorn.  

Yuuri then remembered that he should probably leave the ice and head to the kiss and cry to await his scores.

He did so slowly, skating lazily off the rink, grinning up at the people and offering the occasional bow, who were still applauding, in the stands.

He stepped off the ice, and found himself completely engulfed by Kenjirou’s arms, the teen jumping onto him, wrapping arms tightly around his neck. Yuuri laughed and couldn’t help but spin the boy around before placing his feet back onto the ground.

“So you thought it was alright?” Yuuri asked.

Kenjirou let go of Yuuri and stepped back.

“Oh my god. Literally, just oh my god. I’ve seen you skate your program before, and don’t get me wrong, it was always amazing. But this, wow. It’s almost a shame that this is only the national qualifiers, because that performance should be legendary. It should be the kind of thing that they talk about when airing filler fluff pieces about athlete’s backstories during the Olympics. It was just, wow. I-I could only dream about someday skating like you,” Kenjirou babbled.

“Calm down, Kenjirou,” Kanako laughed. “I’ve got to get Yuuri over to the kiss and cry. You can give him play by play commentary on his program later.”

Kenjirou blushed and looked at the ground timidly while Kanako led Yuuri away to the kiss and cry.

“He is right though. Everything he said is right,” she said softly as they sat down on the bench of the kiss and cry.

“It felt really good to skate it,” Yuuri admitted softly.

“Yuuri, if you can even just repeat that performance, and skate the free skate program with the same level of artistry and technique, you’re going to give Viktor Nikiforov a run for his money at the Grand Prix and hell, the world championship.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Yuuri murmured, trying to fight the color rising to his cheeks.

And then suddenly the thunderous noise that had only just begun to die down returned, and Yuuri remembered to look up at the score board as his score was announced.

He was at the top of the leader board, with a new personal best for the short program. Shockingly though, his score over twenty points above Kenjirou’s.

He knew he’d win, but god, this was something else. It wasn’t unusual of course, for there to be a difference of as much as fifty to sixty points between first and last place after the short programs at larger competitions, but this was a qualifying competition, with only a handful of competitors, and all the other scores discounting Kenjirou’s were within ten points or each other.

If he managed to make this not an early peak performance, if he managed to tighten it even more, make every movement even more exact, maybe even up an element, Yuuri could easily score over 100 points on his short program for the first time in his career during the Grand Prix series.

The only other skater regularly scoring more than 100 points on his short programs right now was Viktor.

But Yuuri had little time to consider things, and he was soon swept up in the excitement unfurling around him. The spectators were emptying the stands, many of them trying to get closer to the rink, closer to Yuuri.

Kanako encouraged him to go speak with some, which Yuuri did, still a little reluctantly, but less so than he’d have been to do so in the past.

He walked down a line of fans lined up against a barrier, taking selfies or signing things for those who asked, simply acknowledging others. He felt a little like he was going through the motions, but it was easy enough with the way everyone was being so nice to him. Everyone being there, just to see him made Yuuri feel a little nauseated, but it also made his heart bloom.

He got to the end of the line, feeling a bit relieved none-the-less, and looked up to find himself face to face with Viktor Nikiforov.

Yuuri faltered for a moment, simply gaping at the man he hadn’t spoken to in almost a year.

“You skated brilliantly,” the man said, speaking softly and leaning close, pulling Yuuri’s attention completely onto him.

“Thank you,” Yuuri replied, unable to not feel a little startled by the man’s praise. “Um,” Yuuri faltered as silence fell between them. “Why are you here?” he asked, suddenly unable to help himself in his desperation to fill the silence. 

“Why, I came to see you skate of course,” the man said, a smile spreading across his face.

Yuuri tried not to sputter. The man seemed determined to surprise him.

“And you couldn’t have watched me on television?” he managed, his voice thankfully taking the tone of a scoff instead of a bewildered squawk.

“They do not exactly air the Japanese national championship regional qualifiers in Russia,” Viktor said matter-of-factly, as if that completely justified his presence there.

Suddenly, Yuuri couldn’t help himself. He laughed.

“No, you’re right, I’m not even sure if they’re airing it on television here,” he said, his face now shaped by a huge grin. He’d let Viktor keep his secrets and mysteries, if that’s what the man wanted. Yuuri was still feeling all discombobulated after his win and the fallout of it, he knew he'd have no chance to go up against Viktor in a battle of stubbornness right now and win. You don't become Viktor Nikiforov without becoming damn used to getting what you want, Yuuri was sure.

Viktor said nothing, and just looked at Yuuri appraisingly.

It was a few long moments, Yuuri beginning to feel inadequate under Viktor's gaze, before the other man spoke.

“You are very different than the last time I met you,” Viktor murmured, softly, so Yuuri was partially convinced he may have misheard.

“I’m very glad to be,” Yuuri said in response though, after a moment, anyway.

“Yes,” Viktor said slowly, crossing his arms and stroking his chin with one raised hand, “I’m glad you are too.”

 

* * *

 

That night passed quickly with Kenjirou and Yuuri celebrating in their hotel room. Kanako, after dragging her skaters out to dinner, which turned into less of a celebration and more of a rather arduous strategy talk, left the boys alone for the evening before she went back to her own room.

They’d found themselves dancing and jumping back and forth between the beds, music blaring from a playlist on Kenjirou's phone.

It had been entirely Kenjirou’s idea, of course. Yuuri had protested initially, saying it was stupid and he was tired and that they would hurt themselves.

Kenjirou had backed off, looking timid and disappointed, and Yuuri had groaned, frustrated at the way Kenjirou was always able to make him feel like he was being a massive dick with a stick up his ass.

He’d grabbed Kenjirou’s phone to turn the music back up, ignoring the teens face as it broke out into a triumphant smile.

Half an hour later, they lay next to each other on one of the beds, completely exhausted and trying to catch their breaths.

“You know, I’ve never seen you let go off the ice before,” Kenjirou whispered, speaking to the ceiling.

Yuuri was confused for a moment, unsure what the teen could have meant. Did he mean them dancing?

But then remembered Kenjirou did not know Yuuri past a few months ago. For six months Yuuri’s identity had become warped into something careless and wild, when unguarded vulnerability became mistaken as control and freedom, and the world around Yuuri preyed on him, while Yuuri tried his damnedest to let himself be eaten alive from the inside out.

Back when Yuuri was called words like  _slut_ , and usually didn’t even mind.

There were still many days, despite, or perhaps because of, how quickly things had become so different, where Yuuri felt like he was hardly any different from the way he did during that time. Sometimes he felt like everyone who saw him knew about what he’d done after the Grand Prix Final—like they could just sense it.

With the training and Kenjirou and Kanako’s support it was getting easier to push those feelings aside, the ones of such intense shame that made him want to light himself on fire rather than have to feel anything else a moment longer.

And, of course, therapy was, rather annoyingly, helping.

Although he was trying to be less annoyed about that, because he knew he was only annoyed because there was a part of him that still didn’t want to, was afraid to, get better.

But it was surprising, still, to remember that to Kenjirou, he was someone fresh and new. Kenjirou, so young and innocent, still probably couldn't even imagine, had no frame of reference to picture, how Yuuri's life had been for those six months.

Yuuri turned his head to the side to look at his rink mate.

“I’m still trying to figure out who I am now-a-day,” Yuuri found himself murmuring.

Kenjirou turned to look at him, his face a bit searching, like Yuuri had just said some complicated math equation that he didn’t know how to solve.

“I think whoever you are, you’re pretty great,” Kenjirou said after a moment.

Yuuri laughed, as he rolled himself off the bed, climbing over into his own.

“You always thought I was pretty great, Minami, god knows why,” Yuuri teased as he crawled under the covers and shut off the light.

“Shut up, Katsuki. Stop making me feel ridiculous for looking up to you.”

In the darkness, Yuuri rolled his eyes, but still fell asleep smiling.

The next morning came, and Yuuri found himself excited to get out of bed. He was ready to be back on the ice. He wanted nothing more.

While his short program was good, his free skate was obviously better, and if skating the short program in competition made him feel so good, he couldn’t imagine how skating the free skate would make him feel.

He got ready for the day, and after a while, he, Kenjirou, and Kanako headed to the arena.

The first time he’d noticed something was off, he saw Kanako whispering something to Kenjirou. But he shrugged it off.

The second time was when on the way into the arena, they’d been rerouted to a back entrance that was now specifically reserved for skaters, their coaches, and arena staff. But he’d thought little of it.

The third time, he was in the changing area, and he noticed the other skaters looking at him a little strangely, occasionally whispering among themselves or to their coaches.

That made Yuuri a little uncomfortable. He knew he’d done something impressive yesterday, but he didn’t like to think about his competitors reacting to it.

Did they all hate him for blowing them out of the water?

Did they think he was arrogant? Pompous? Self-centered?

Yuuri put on his costume and skates and zipped his jacket over it. Kanako helped him gel back his hair, and took his glasses from him, safely storing them in a case as Yuuri put in contacts.

His mind continued to buzz nervously as he did breathing exercises, trying to get his mind off of the opinions of others.

But then, with Kanako and Kenjirou at his side, Yuuri made his way out to the rink, and was very suddenly enlightened as to what was going on.

The arena was packed. Yesterday there had been a decent turnout, but for the most part only the first half dozen rows of the stands were filled in completely, people speckling most of the rest of the stands.

Now, Yuuri was struggling to spot an empty seat.

Then, suddenly there was screaming. Yuuri looked around, instinctively looking for Viktor, as odd as that instinct perhaps was to have developed.

But no, it wasn’t Viktor that had been spotted. It was him.

“News about your performance yesterday spread across the skating community, and then a bit beyond,” Kanako supplied, having observed Yuuri’s dumbstruck face with an amused smirk. "There was news that Yuuri Katsuki’s come back performance was so strong, that even just early rumors of it had inspired Viktor Nikiforov to come out just to scope out the competition, which seemed to be the icing on the cake.

“There was a rush on the box office last night. Everyone wanted a ticket to come see your free skate be performed for the first time. I’ve heard that some people drove all night just to get here in time to see you.”

Yuuri felt like he had short circuited.

“What? I don’t—why? But I’m—no. Viktor. They’re here to see Viktor,” Yuuri finally settled on. “He’s so rarely in Japan. He hasn’t competed in the NHK cup in years,” Yuuri said resolutely.

Kanako rolled her eyes.

“Katsuki. Look,” Kenjirou said, pointing across the arena. Viktor was once again sitting in the stands. “Viktor is right there. And yet, everyone is watching you.”

Yuuri looked at Viktor, and then looked back around the rink.

Kenjirou was right. All eyes were on him.

Yuuri felt like he was going to vomit.

“I-I was wrong. I can’t do this,” Yuuri said, panic taking over him in a way that it hadn’t in months.

“Yuuri?” Kanako asked, her eyes growing wide.

“I-I need a minute.”

And with that Yuuri walked back out of the arena and into the changing room.

He slid down against a wall, curling up into a ball.

There were so many people, god. And they all came for him? Why on earth would they do that? Yuuri would surely only disappoint them. 

Yuuri was nothing if not a disappointment.

Fuck, when had breathing become such a privilege Yuuri didn't have access to? His hands flew to his chest, grasping at his too quick beating heart, wishing he could claw out some space for his lungs to inflate again.

With shaking hands, he reached into the pocket of his warm up jacket, and quickly found a contact in his phone he’d been given but never called.

“Hi-um. I know this is probably a bad time. But I’m, uh, sorry. But you said I could call, if I needed to,” Yuuri said, his voice a disjointed mix of panic and uncertainty.

“Yuuri, what’s wrong?” the voice of his therapist came down the line.

“There are—there are so many people here.”

“Today is your free skate?”

Yuuri nodded, not thinking about the fact that she couldn’t see him.

“Talk me through how you’re feeling today, Yuuri,” she instructed, her voice gentle.

Yuuri tried, but instead only found himself gasping for air, and his mind was too frazzled to even try and select the right words. He spent the next several minutes listening to his therapist as she guided him through breathing exercises. Finally, even though his heart was still beating too fast, he was had gathered himself enough to try and answer her question.

“This morning was good. I was excited. But then I got here, and things were weird. I was worried that the other skaters were thinking poorly of me. But then I found out the reason things have been weird is because apparently all of Japan has driven all night just to see me skate or something and I-I. I’m not ready. I wasn’t expecting to have to deal with this this soon. This was supposed to be quiet. I was supposed to have until the Grand Prix.”

“So you want to withdraw?” his therapist asked.

Yuuri’s brow automatically furrowed.

“What, no, of course not,” Yuuri said quickly, without even having to think about it. “I just want all these people to not be here,” he added on softly.

“You have to work with the situation you have, Yuuri. Today, you have two options—you can either pack up your bag and go home or you can go out there, manage your feelings as best as you can today, skate as well as you can today, and hope it’s enough to give you a shot to have another day that goes better than this one,” his therapist said rather matter-of-factly, and her frankness sent a jolt through Yuuri, grounding him.

“Oh-okay,” Yuuri said softly. He began to feel his heart beating a bit slower, although he still felt like the world was tilted the wrong way on its axis.

“Call me later and let me know how things went,” she said. A large part of Yuuri wanted to beg her to stay on the line for longer, but he couldn't bring himself too. Soon though, his therapist was speaking again, “But Yuuri, I think things are going to go great. Work with what you have today. Make the choices that are available to you. Try to worry as little as possible about the things you don’t have any access to or control over.”

“Okay. Thanks. Okay,” was all Yuuri could manage to say.

The line clicked silent.

Yuuri looked down at his phone and opened the text messages, clicking on his coaches name.

 _Come get me right before Minami’s up_.

Yuuri then went over to his bag and dug out a pair of headphones. He put them in his ears and sat back down against the wall. Then he put on the music for his program and began to picture himself skating it while he did some stretches.

He could do this.

 

* * *

 

Kanako came and got him right before Kenjirou was set to skate, and Yuuri took a seat along the rink, trying to not look up at the crowds.

He was glad that all these people would get to see Kenjirou’s free skate.

“Good luck Minami!” Yuuri yelled out as Kenjirou skated into the center of the rink. The teen spun to look at Yuuri, and then smiled brightly at him.

He took his position, and the music began.

Kenjirou’s free skate program was far more intense than his short program, but it was still very Kenjirou. The music had a bit of a swing feel to it, but it was a little less lighthearted and a bit more dramatic. The music was rich and deep, although quick paced, and Kenjirou was skating to it with great energy and passion, but also a level of restraint that was a new development that Kenjirou had been working on this season. Yuuri had watched while training how Kenjirou had gotten more mature as a skater, and it was an amazing transformation to watch.

As if reading his mind, Kanako leaned over to him.

“He’s learned so much from you already. He’s taken beautifully after you,” she murmured.

Yuuri instantly wanted to say taking after him, the human flaming trash fire, was not exactly anything anyone should aspire to, but for the sake of trying to be a little less self-deprecating, he instead only blushed a bit and shook his head.

“I don’t think either of us would be here today if it weren’t for you, though,” he said.

“Oh, don’t fool yourself, Yuuri. You would have found another coach. Any coach would be grateful to take you on.”

Yuuri was skeptical.

“There were other offers, you know. After that video, a half dozen different coaches across the world called Ono, called Celestino, called anyone who might still be in touch with you, to offer you an open invitation to come train with them,” Kanako admitted, her eyes still following Kenjirou as she spoke to Yuuri.

“What?” Yuuri asked, startled by this bit of information. At that moment though, Kenjirou landed his triple salchow cleanly and both Yuuri and Kanako flew out of their seat, screaming and applauding.

A few moments later, they settled down again.

“Ono decided not to overwhelm you,” Kanako continued. “He thought you were not ready to go around the world to train yet, so he reached out to me. When you are ready though, to train with someone with more experience than me, at a facility with top of the line equipment and better resources, there will be plenty of options available to you.”

“I’m doing just fine where I am,” Yuuri said defensively, the thought of leaving Kanako and Kenjirou after only just having become so close to them alarming.

“Today is not forever, Yuuri. I will not hold it against you when you decide to go.”

Yuuri shook his head, still not believing that there could come a time when he required anything more than what he had right now.

The thought was quickly pushed out of his mind though, as Kenjirou’s program finished with a flourish and the arena erupted with applause, Yuuri and Kanako clapping loudest of all as they made their way over to greet Kenjirou as he skated off the ice.

“I never thought I’d skate in front of a crowd this big,” Kenjirou stated as he stepped off the ice, looking around the stands in awe.

“What are you talking about,” Yuuri said argumentatively, teasing the teen while he smiled at him proudly. “The crowds at international junior competitions can be even larger.”

“No one cheers this loud at junior competitions,” Kenjirou defended.

“No,” Yuuri conceded. “I suppose they rarely do.”

 

* * *

 

Kenjirou’s scores were high, and he was once again easily in first place.

By the time Yuuri took to the ice, he’d been so filled with feelings of protectiveness over his coach, or pride over Kenjirou, that he hardly remembered to feel terrified.

Determined not to let the feeling come back to him, Yuuri did not look out across the stands as he skated across the rink, and he kept his gaze as focused as possible when he took to the center.

Yuuri’s costume draped over him as he raised his arms. He was wearing standard black trousers, but his shirt was deep blue and hung against him elegantly. A wide belt with an ornate design cinched his waist, and the deep v of the collar exposed the top of his chest.

He felt beautiful in his costume.

Yuuri wondered what the media commentators, since apparently the competition was definitely now being broadcast at least live streaming on the internet, would say.

“This is Yuuri Katsuki’s second performance after he shocked the world by walking off the ice during the free skate of the Grand Prix final last year,” he imagined them recounting.

“Yes, that was certainly a shock. But after a video showing him imitating Viktor Nikiforov’s record breaking program surfaced online, Katsuki announced his plan to compete again this season, now training under Kanako Odagaki,” the other announcer would bounce off.

“Today he’ll be skating to a piece titled Yuri On Ice, a title which pays homage to the video that many say is the reason Katsuki returned to skating. This performance comes after his short program yesterday, which scored a whopping 92.33, placing him in first by a drastic margin,” the announcer would continue.

Yuuri quickly tried to shove the imaginary dialogue from his mind, turning back to the task at hand as he waited for his name to be announced and his music to start.

And, shortly, it did.

And Yuuri let himself get swept away.

All he could think about was the program and making it as special as he could. He had three quads in this program—one toe loop, one Lutz, and then the quadruple flip towards the end of the program. He also had a handful of triples and doubles, most in combinations, for good measure.

A part of him secretly hoped, having not revealed it to Kanako yet, to be able to turn a triple salchow into a quad by the end of the season. But he currently was still not supposed to be practicing the jump, so currently the best he could do was throw his triple salchow in the second half. The flip was also just barely out of the second half, and he thought about pushing it further later in the season as well.

He had the stamina for it, he knew he did. No one did quads in the second half of the program, not even Viktor. Many skaters didn’t do any jumps at all in the second half. Yuuri knew he could do at least one, if not two.

But these were, once again, all concerns for another day. Kanako was fighting him to keep himself from pushing himself too hard too soon, and Yuuri was accepting it for now.

The program passed Yuuri by and as he began to feel the beginnings of fatigue, Yuuri only was inspired to skate harder. Element after element came and went, and Yuuri didn’t so much as wobble.

He could hear the crowd responding as he did the quad Lutz-half loop-triple flip in combination, a challenging combination, particularly in the second half, even if only just.

The noise they made as he landed the quad flip just outside the point where scores received a bonus was amazing, Yuuri couldn’t ignore it. Including the flip was a small homage to Viktor, although Yuuri tried not to think about it that way. Everyone, presumably, also knew Yuuri had the flip after watching the video, so there was no use in hiding it. He wanted to have it officially ratified that season.

He felt amazing as he closed out the program. He no longer cared about the presence of the crowd. If people wanted to share this with him, he wasn’t sure he could blame them.

Because, this, this was amazing.

His program drew to a close, and unlike the short program, Yuuri was definitely feeling the exhaustion creeping up on him, but not anywhere near enough to slow him down as he sliced his way through the final steps of his program.

Then he stood in the center of the ice as his music finished arms spread wide above him head.

And then it felt like the sky was falling in around him, as at that exact moment, nearly every person in the stands jumped to their feet, applauding.

Flowers and stuffed toys rained down on him, which was certainly unusual for a regional qualifier. It was also unusual for Yuuri. People didn’t exactly ever buy things for him, expecting him to do well enough to deserve it. Yuuri had for so long been a bit of a wild card.

As he walked off the ice, he bent down and picked up a toy stuffed poodle that looked a little like Vicchan.

 _Huh_ , he didn’t know people knew that much about him.

He stepped off the ice, and Kanako flung an arm around his shoulders and guided him over to the kiss and cry, while Kenjirou followed like a puppy, speechless and his eyes wide with awe.

Yuuri and Kanako took a seat at the kiss and cry, while Kenjirou stood a short distance away, eyes glued to the score board.

It felt like it took ages, and perhaps, it did take slightly longer than usual, before Yuuri’s score popped up on the board.

200.04

The crowd was thunderous.

And Yuuri couldn’t believe it.

He’d broken 200. Yuuri tried to remember if a Japanese skater had ever been awarded a score over 200 in the national championship, none the less a qualifier, and he couldn’t. Usually the winning scores fell in the 180-195 range, depending on the year. The years Yuuri had won, it had definitely been closer to 180.

Skaters who possessed the technical skill needed to score that high usually were preparing themselves to peak in international competition and didn't push themselves to break 200 at a national competition.

And of course, these scores didn’t really count towards his personal records, since this was a national competition not sanctioned by the ISU. And that also meant his scores could be a bit warped from how they’d be if judged following ISU guidelines. If anything, though, national competitions tended to score harder, not wanting to get a bad reputation with the ISU for inflating scores.

But it did mean that there was no way that Japan would not give him one of their invitations to the Grand Prix series. It meant he'd have a chance to do this program again, after spending the rest of the month tweaking it to make it even better, even harder, and could score like this again, hopefully at the Grand Prix Final. 

And by the looks of it, depending on how the other regional qualifiers went, Kenjirou had half a shot of qualifying too if a spot became available.

But Yuuri had little time to think too much about it, because suddenly, there was madness.

Everyone wanted to speak to him, from fans to the media to Kanako and Kenjirou.

It was a whirlwind of questions about how he felt, about when he perfected so many quads, about his music, about the Grand Prix and the National Championships and the World Championships and even the 2018 Olympics.

Yuuri, frankly, was overwhelmed.

But he dealt with things one at a time, said no when the demands became too much, and kept breathing.

He could do this.

He could be this person.

Finally, he was ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commenting doesn't have an expiration date! Literally even if it's five years from now and this story is long finished leave me a comment on this chapter and all the rest of them anyway.


	5. Southern Japan - October 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You think that I of all people would have a hard time negotiating the bending of rules at a skating arena,” Viktor said with a coy smile, “—even with a language barrier?”

By the time Yuuri made his way back to the changing room, it was completely empty. Yuuri had been swept up in the largest media circus that a regional qualifying competition had ever seen, and all the other skaters had gone home by the time that Yuuri finally managed to get a moment of peace. Even Kenjirou had disappeared from the chaos, gone to meet up with his family who, while having had to miss the short program, had been able to make it out for the free skate.

He began to strip out of his costume, undoing the top and pulling it off, when suddenly Yuuri caught some movement out of the corner of his eye.

Yuuri spun around quickly and found himself looking straight at Viktor.

_What the?_

Yuuri had almost forgotten about the man—assumed he must have left long ago once the competition was formally over. Surely he’d scoped out the competition enough now, and would have gone home to get back to training?

Yuuri had hoped, maybe, right after he'd won that the man would congratulate him again, but when everyone else in the world seemed to show up to congratulate Yuuri except Viktor, Yuuri had forced himself to forget about the man, and squash the feeling of disappointment.

“Vik—what the? How did you get back here?” Yuuri gasped.

“You think that I of all people would have a hard time negotiating the bending of rules at a skating arena,” Viktor said with a coy smile, “—even with a language barrier?”

“I mean, no, I guess. But why—” Yuuri stammered.

He noticed Viktor’s eyes flick down his body and in that moment Yuuri realized he was shirtless, his torso bare.

A look took Viktor’s eyes, and suddenly the man was walking towards him, closing the distance.

He reached out and ran his fingers across Yuuri’s hips, where old bruises speckled green against his skin.

“You have been practicing new jumps?” Victor asked, his voice slightly inflected but the words still a statement more than a question.

Yuuri looked away, a feeling of shame washing over him.

Viktor of course only saw the bruises for what they were, what they should have been—normal for a skater. Still there seemed to be something on his face, something maybe like displeasure as he examined Yuuri’s bruises.

Viktor’s hand was still ghosting along his hip and he suddenly realized it was making him feel a little sick—Viktor touching him there, like that. Even more, he was touching the bruises Yuuri got from practicing a jump that Viktor could already do, but Yuuri wasn’t even trusted to be allowed to attempt.

The whole thing suddenly made Yuuri feel like he’d been punched in the stomach, despite the lightness of Viktor’s touch.

“Please don’t touch me like that,” Yuuri whispered.

Viktor quickly withdrew his hand so fast it was like he’d been burned and took a step back with a small gasp.

“Yuuri?” he asked, his voice confused and pleading, although Yuuri didn’t know for what. “I apologize, I shouldn’t—” but he didn’t finish, instead falling silent.

Yuuri sat down on the bench, grabbing his t-shirt and quickly pulling it on. All of the sudden he felt so tired, the adrenaline from the day instantly wearing off. He leaned over to rest his elbows on his knees, and let his head fall forward.

“Why are you here, Viktor?” Yuuri asked, looking through his knees to the floor.

There was only silence.

It lasted so long Yuuri finally raised his head to look at up Viktor, just to see if the man was still there.

He found the man staring at him, his eyes wide.

“Viktor?” Yuuri asked and suddenly the man was brought out of whatever trance he’d gone into.

Viktor rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“I, em, came to ask you to dinner.”

“What?” Yuuri asked instantly, sure he’d had to have misheard him despite the silence of the room.

“I wanted to know if you’d like to go to dinner. With me. Probably tonight,” the man elaborated, sounding more unsure than Yuuri ever imagined the man being capable of.

“Why?” Yuuri asked, trying to figure out what on earth could possibly have possessed the man to consider such a thing. What could the Russian champion possibly want from him?

Yuuri just didn’t understand—he couldn’t figure out the man’s motivations.

Coming to watch was one thing that Yuuri could imagine enough reasons for, most of which were along the lines of scoping out the competition, or maybe even as far as just making headlines by being somewhere surprising. Maybe he was in Japan on business, some kind of meeting with sponsors, and he had decided to come out and see a nearby skating competition because he, you know, likes skating. Or at the very least it was a bizarre enough thing that Yuuri could accept that it was beyond his comprehension, or perhaps that part of his life had become a strange dream at the very least.

But asking Yuuri to dinner? There was a whole list of very standard implications of such an ordinary, but in this instance seemingly extraordinary, thing.  

Everyone always had to have motivations—especially a man as brilliant and as used to getting what he wants as Viktor Nikiforov.

“Because I’d like to take you,” Viktor responded after a moment, sounding a bit more coy again, and still definitely not revealing anything at all that Yuuri felt desperate to know. “Would you like to come?”

 _Yes,_  Yuuri found himself thinking instantly.  _Yes, I would_.

Viktor was, well, he was still Viktor. At a distance, as he’d been for most of the competition, Yuuri had been able to keep any nervous feelings surrounding the man at bay, and shrug the man’s presence off as some strange, funny, twist of chance.

He’d positioned Viktor’s presence at the competition in his mind as some sort of cosmic joke. Yuuri realized he was not even sure if he’d really believed the man had been there at all. Yuuri could have, perhaps would have if he was not standing here now, accepted the man as little more than a hallucination, a friendly ghost come to haunt him.

Yuuri suddenly thought he could understand Viktor’s desire to reach out and touch.

_This has to be a dream._

But now though, the man stood across from him, light blue eyes looking at Yuuri searchingly, the man standing close enough to notice the green that was also in them. Yuuri felt butterflies in his stomach.

He looked very real.

Of course, Yuuri wanted to go to dinner with Viktor, he’d dreamed about such a thing since he was a child.

Him and Viktor being…friends.

 _Friends_ , his mind scoffed at him.  _Yes, that is all you want._

Yuuri buried the thought quickly.

He knew if he allowed himself to even entertain the idea of anything else, it would only end in heartbreak and embarrassment.

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything too direct or enthusiastic though, still feeling on such uneven footing with the man, even though they were in his home country at a competition that he had broken Japanese records at, and so instead he simply said—

“Maybe that could be nice.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri managed to get Viktor to leave him alone long enough to finish changing and text Kanako to let her know that he was going out and to ask if she’d come pick up his skates and costume.

He purposefully did not tell Kenjirou, already overwhelmed enough by the day to not deal with the inevitable fallout of Kenjirou learning that Viktor Nikiforov had asked Yuuri to dinner.

 _Whatever that even meant_.

They left the arena, Viktor somehow convincing a janitor who spoke no English and certainly no Russian to take them to a side door where they could leave without attracting the attention of any lingering press or fans.

 _Yes,_  Yuuri thought,  _this has to be a dream._

Yes, athletes at the level of Viktor and Yuuri now had to admit perhaps himself to a lesser extent did have a certain level of celebrity but sneaking out of back entrances and then Viktor quickly donning a pair of sunglasses and handing Yuuri a cap (where did he get that?) to disguise themselves was another kind of something.

They walked for a few blocks before Viktor selected a quiet looking, hole-in-the-wall type establishment.

They sat down at one of the restaurants few cramped tables along the back wall of the restaurant. Viktor looked a bit oversized in comparison to the compact table, his long legs crunching up against the underside of it.

“What do you like to eat?” Viktor asked, and Yuuri realized that they hadn’t really spoken since Yuuri had agreed to go out with him.

The silence had not been uncomfortable.

“Oh, anything is probably good. I like katsudon, which is like fried pork and rice and eggs and stuff. I often have it after I win, though usually I hold out for my mothers. But anything you pick is probably good though,” Yuuri shrugged.

“Why don’t you order for me?” Viktor asked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t possibly know what you’d like,” Yuuri said shaking his head.

“But you just said anything is good, so I would just pick at random. And I mean, the menu’s in Japanese, all I can do is point at these helpful pictures they provided,” Viktor teased, pointing to the small and grainy photographs next to some of the menu items. Yuuri flushed as he realized he’d completely forgotten the man couldn’t even read the menu. “You have to at least be able to narrow down the options a little bit, make sure I do not end up with a bowl of fish eyes or something,” Viktor said, his face contorting with a grimace.

“Don’t Russians love strange pickled fish things or something?” Yuuri asked.

“Pickled fish and fish eyeballs are not remotely similar things. And I am a man not a nationality, anyway.”

“If the fish still have their eyeballs when you pickle them, it is almost exactly the same,” Yuuri defended, unsure why, since he had never personally even come across bowls of fish eyeballs in Japan anyway. But he found that he enjoyed the banter.

“They do not,” Viktor insisted.

Yuuri inhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Exasperating man,” he muttered in Japanese, but a smile was pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“What was that?” Viktor asked, perking up at the foreign words.

“Nothing,” Yuuri said quickly.

“Oh, really,” Viktor said, and then began speaking Russian rapidly.

“What on earth are you ranting about?” Yuuri asked, dumbstruck.

“See how you like it,” Viktor said, with a smirk.

Yuuri laughed.

“You’re exasperating! I said you’re exasperating!” Yuuri proclaimed, rolling his eyes.

“Oh,” Viktor said, his eyes losing the mirth they’d had moments ago, and he was suddenly instead looking a bit…disappointed? Yuuri instantly stopped laughing and furrowed his brow at Viktor’s response.

“I—What did you say?” Yuuri asked after a moment.

“Just that I came all the way to Japan just to see you and all you’ll do is argue with me,” Viktor said, seeming suddenly like his mind was far away.

“I didn’t ask you to come,” Yuuri said without thinking, but instantly realized it was not the right thing to say as he watched something else shift across Viktor’s face, hardening it.

“Yes, I see that now.”

Yuuri sighed. God, everything was constantly changing so fast with this man, keeping up with him was like trying to chase a roller coaster.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri murmured, although he didn’t really know what he was apologizing for. “Look, I’m going to order you katsudon, and you’re going to tell me it’s the best damn thing you’ve ever eaten, got it?”

Viktor’s face brightened.

“I do not doubt that it will be,” Viktor said with a smile. He added another word after it, something in Russian Yuuri didn’t understand.

He didn’t ask what it meant and instead flagged down the waitress.

 

* * *

 

As the evening progressed, things began to get better again.

Viktor’s mood seemed to return to its usual level of chipperness once Yuuri had ordered and he easily carried the conversation by himself, Yuuri nodding and laughing and answering questions as appropriate.

Viktor raved about the pork cutlet bowl, as per Yuuri’s request, moaning indecently as he took bites, less per Yuuri’s request. Yuuri looked around the restaurant in embarrassment as Viktor grunted and groaned in a mock orgasm as he ate.

But eventually, Yuuri found himself laughing.

They finished their meals but kept talking as the sun went down.

“I should probably go back to the hotel. Kanako probably told Minami about this and I imagine he’ll combust soon if I don’t come back to give him a play by play,” Yuuri said casually, but instantly wondered if he’d said to much. Mentioning other people, mentioning his real life—it felt like he may have just let some kind of secret admission slip, although he wasn’t sure what that admission could have been. But Viktor seemed to naturally form some kind of bubble around him, where no one else but him existed. And Yuuri found himself worried he’d just accidently shattered the bubble.

Viktor, though, didn’t seem to notice.

“You seem to have a very good relationship with that boy,” he commented.

“He’s grown on me.”

“You treat him better than a younger brother. I watched you during the competition.”

“I noticed,” Yuuri said.

“Oh? Did you?”

“Yes, of course. How could I not?”

Viktor looked very pleased at this.

“I don’t know, for a while I was beginning to think you may be the one person who is immune to my charms. It would have been just my luck,” he said teasingly.

Yuuri choked on air.

“You, Viktor Nikiforov, are not short on luck,” Yuuri scoffed.

The man was the number one men’s figure skater in the world, where could his luck possibly be lacking?

“You say my name oddly,” Viktor said, turning the conversation again so fast it gave Yuuri whiplash.

“Oh, is it my accent? I’m sorry if I can’t get all the inflections right,” Yuuri mumbled, looking down.

He’d begun learning English young enough and lived in the US for long enough that a Japanese accent while speaking English, while still definitely present, was relatively light comparatively. 

But Russian was something else entirely that he had no experience with.

“Oh no, nothing like that. It’s just, you say it like I’m some kind of,” Viktor paused, seeming to search for the right word, “Deity,” he settled on, with a smirk that made Yuuri’s face color, “Instead of just a man.”

“You aren’t a deity, don’t flatter yourself,” Yuuri scoffed, although Yuuri wasn’t quite sure he believed it. But then he admitted more softly, “But you aren’t  _just_  a man either.”

Viktor only hummed in response.

“So, will you take me back with you to Hasetsu then?” Viktor asked, casually, and Yuuri swore this man was going to break his neck if he changed the subject like that one more time.

And this time Yuuri could not find the words to even begin to figure out what the man was talking about.

But he’d forgotten all about leaving the restaurant even as the staff began to sweep the floor around them.

“Hasetsu, the place where you’re from I believe. It’s only a couple hours from here, yes? You told me you would show me the ninja castle,” Viktor continued, seeing Yuuri’s surprise, “Surely you didn’t forget? I thought I was the forgetful one.”

Viktor wanted Yuuri to show him around Hasetsu, like he’d offhandedly agreed to do, expecting nothing to come of it, over nine months ago?

“Shouldn’t you be going back to Russia? Shouldn’t you be training?” was the only response Yuuri could formulate in his shock.

“Rest can be an important part of training. It’s good for the body,” Viktor said firmly. “Plus, I’ll only be here for a couple more days—only a four-day trip, no more than a long weekend.”

“I don’t exactly think of international travel as restful,” Yuuri argued.

He couldn’t exactly agree to this, it was insane. What was wrong with this man? People, they just don’t do things like this.

At least Yuuri certainly didn’t. Yuuri only interacted with people if he had to or if they had explicitly stated several times that they didn’t mind his company. And he didn’t ask for things unless he was ninety-nine percent sure the answer would be yes.

He didn’t do things unless he had calculated the result and already thought that he was pretty sure he knew what it would be.

Showing up half way across the world and demanding the company of someone you’d only met once was not a risk that could be taken with an expected favorable result. The chances of the person completely rejecting you surely would have been too high. The chances of you ended up stranded, alone, in a foreign country, out a solid chunk of money for no good reason, was too high.

But then, Yuuri remembered in this equation it was not Yuuri flying around the world and asking a favor of Viktor, it was Viktor flying around the world to ask a favor of Yuuri. And that changed everything, didn’t it?

Yuuri had a sinking feeling that Yuuri would never be able to say no, at least certainly not explicitly, to this man.

 _Talk to therapist about maintaining boundaries with ridiculous Russian world champions_ , Yuuri found himself making a mental note.

“Doesn’t your family run a hot spring resort set in a quiet coastal town? That sounds restful to me,” Viktor responded, pulling Yuuri out of his thoughts.

“Are you ever going to give me the real reason why you’re here?” Yuuri said weakly, feeling defeated, but still trying, still hoping somehow to convince the man he was being ridiculous.

Viktor said nothing, but tilted his head in the way he did often while looking at Yuuri.

“I think, somewhere, you must already know,” he said after a moment.

“I really don’t.”

Viktor sighed.

“Well, you see, when a man skates another man’s program like you did, as beautifully as you did, particularly after leaving the sport as abruptly and shockingly as you did, with jumps at a difficulty level you'd never previously landed in competition, the other man is obligated to come and see the man’s return performance. The fact that that performance happened to be taking place so close to your hometown when you once promised me a tour only made it all the more kismet,” Viktor said matter-of-factly, and ending with a trademark grin.

Yuuri let himself absorb the information.

He guessed that Viktor was right, a small part of Yuuri had entertained the idea that this had something to do with the video. Actually, it was obvious. But Yuuri hadn’t been able to seriously fathom that someone, anyone, would do something so grand for him. None the less Viktor Nikiforov. He just assumed that there had to have been some other, less we’ve-suddenly-been-transported-to-a-parallel-universe-where-people-actually-behave-like-people-to-in-the-movies reason.

 _Yes, but what kind of movie is this?_  his mind asked, defiantly.

Yuuri pushed the thoughts aside quickly and replayed what Viktor had said again in his head, trying once again to figure out how to formulate a response. He found suddenly that he couldn’t help but find himself chuckling. Or maybe he’d just finally snapped under Viktor’s expectant gaze.

Viktor was a ridiculous, ridiculous man.

The lengths he would go for a surprise. Ridiculous.

And then Yuuri found himself, through his laughter, telling the man as such—

“You’re a ridiculous man, you know that, Viktor Nikiforov?”

Viktor’s eyes brightened. He crossed his arms, but Yuuri could tell the defensive gesture was mock.

“Back with the Viktor Nikiforov. You can just call me Viktor you know. Or just about anything else, I’d probably let you get away with it.” Viktor stated firmly but finished with a teasing look in his eyes. “But ridiculous? I do not believe that that word has ever been used to describe me before,” he huffed. “Handsome, yes. Wonderful, yes. Charming, yes. Magnetic, yes. God-like, yes. But never ridiculous.”

“You’re astounding,” Yuuri laughed.

“Ah, yes, now that I have heard before!” Viktor grinned, clasping his hands together gleefully.

“Exasperating!”

Viktor’s eyes widened for a second, but then he laughed.

 

* * *

 

The next day, somehow but seemingly inevitably, Yuuri found himself on a train back to Hasetsu, with Viktor in tow.

They’d finally gone back to the hotel the night before, after the restaurant staff had all but kicked them out. Yuuri had gotten back to his room, Viktor, apparently staying at the same hotel, insisted on walking him to his door ( _what the actual fuck?_ ), and Yuuri had been relieved to find that Kenjirou was not there. The teen had decided to drive back to Hakata with his family that evening and was very possibly completely unaware of anything that had happened to Yuuri after the competition.

Which was good, because Yuuri certainly did not have a strong enough grasp on what was going on to be able to explain it to the over-excitable, blunt, and demanding teen. And he certainly was not prepared for the two to come face to face. The idea of that filled with him with dread. There was no way Kenjirou would not manage to embarrass him, probably very much on purpose.

Traveling with Viktor in Japan was quickly turning out to be a rather exhausting experience. The man was absolutely fascinated by everything around him, and the world around Viktor was as equally fascinated by him.

They’d stopped to buy coffee (for Viktor) and tea (for Yuuri) and Yuuri swore that the barista was going to have some sort of stroke as he took their order. (He didn’t but did upgrade them to the largest size at no extra cost).

Then, there hadn’t been two seats next to each other on one of the trains, so they’d made to sit a few rows apart, when a teenager flung herself out of her seat, making room for Yuuri and Viktor to sit beside each other. (And then she’d asked for both of their autographs—Yuuri had a hard time believing there were actually enough figure skating fans in the world to run into them like this.)

They finally made it back to Hasetsu and a dog came bounding up to Viktor outside of the train station. Its owner was running behind it, already flustered and apologizing profusely, until he looked up and saw Viktor and Yuuri standing beside one another, the small dog wrapped in Viktor’s arms, and it looked like the man was about to fall to the ground before Viktor in a bow. (Thankfully he didn’t, but he did far too seriously offer to let Viktor just keep the dog since it liked him so much.)

Finally, _finally_ they made it back to Yu-topia.

Yuuri made his way into the reception room of the resort, and found his mother sweeping the floor, and he could hear his father banging around in the kitchen nearby.

His mother immediately looked up preparing to welcome guests, and her eyes widened when she saw Yuuri, and then somehow grew wider when they landed on Viktor.

“Oh, Yuuri, you’ve brought someone home with you! How exciting!” she gasped. “We were so sorry we couldn’t watch you on television, I wish we could have had a viewing party. Minako showed us videos of your performances though, you were so beautiful Yuuri!”

Yuuri was a little shocked. While his parents never, ever treated him any differently in the time after he moved back after the Grand Prix final, he knew that they knew how disastrous his life had become, and he knew they had been worried and disappointed.

And he certainly didn’t like the implications that seemed to exist in the vagueness of him bringing someone home. Like Viktor was  _someone_. Well, he was, of course someone. Definitely someone. But hardly  _someone_  to Yuuri in any formal meanings, or maybe that was still the wrong way around.

But mostly, it was his mother continued to be so excited for him broke Yuuri’s heart a little bit.

He could tell his parents were relieved when he’d started training again a few months ago, but things had still felt a little broken.

He knew if he let them, they would move on like nothing was ever wrong. Except for that Yuuri would never forgive himself if he never acknowledged it. He knew if he didn’t, someday, get up the courage to apologize to his parents, things would never, really, be able to go back to the way things were once, now seemingly so long ago.

To see his mother now though, full of excitement and praise, Yuuri couldn’t help but feel ashamed.

“Er, yes, this is Viktor Nikiforov. He’ll be staying here for a couple of days, I think.”

“Welcome! We are happy to have you!” his mother turned to address Viktor, speaking in slightly stilted sounding English.

“Thank you, I’m happy to be here,” Viktor surprised Yuuri by speaking to Yuuri’s mother in equally broken sounding Japanese.

It was strange to hear the man who used English so confidently, now sounding a bit timid as he tried to speak Japanese. Yuuri found himself wondering if Viktor spoke differently in his native language, if his tone carried even more confidence there.

And then the idea, of Viktor learning Japanese just because it was the language Yuuri spoke made the nausea that Yuuri should have probably gotten used to by now return.

 _People learn phrases of the local language when coming to foreign countries all the time. He probably learned some years ago, on a trip to Japan before he even knew you existed_ , Yuuri tried to reassure himself.

Either way, Hiroko at least seemed thrilled, quickly pulling Viktor into a hug that seemed to surprise both Yuuri and Viktor.

“I will make you both dinner tonight, yes?” she spoke to Yuuri as she pulled away from Viktor.

Yuuri smiled and nodded, trying to be happy to see his mother so happy. Then he turned and looked back at Viktor.

“Er, why don’t you go have a soak in the hot spring, and I’ll take your bag upstairs and get a room set up for you,” Yuuri offered.

Viktor’s brow furrowed.

“Won’t you join me in the hot spring?” he asked, stepping closer to Yuuri, his face… flirtatious?

Um, no. Yuuri would definitely not.

This moment had been one Yuuri had been dreading, since Viktor first invited himself to Hasetsu yesterday. Yuuri had spent half the night coming up with ways to get out of this exact situation. He'd thought about it so much, that he hoped that that thing would happen where if you spend enough time imagining a scenario, it becomes guaranteed to not happen in real life. But apparently that rule didn't apply in the dream(/nightmare) world Yuuri now resided in.

But Yuuri had in fact mostly avoided having a bath in the hot springs since he returned to Hasetsu. Occasionally, late at night or early in the morning when the baths were closed to guests, Yuuri would sneak in to soak for a while.

But for so long, Yuuri’s body had become so wrecked, he had not wanted anyone to see it. He couldn’t imagine risking exposing the poor guests to his violent looking bruises, and it wouldn’t have been sanitary to go in with the open wounds the covered his feet and sometimes even elsewhere when he’d slammed into the boards or the ice so roughly it had broken skin.

And he couldn’t bear the thought of Victor seeing his bruises again. And he certainly, could not bear the idea of Viktor seeing him naked.

And Yuuri found that he didn’t particularly want to see Viktor naked either.

Not that in his teens, at the height of his idolization (crush) Yuuri hadn’t considered the other man in various states of undress. Not that he hadn’t found himself feeling things as the man glided around the rink in skin tight costumes. He had been a teenage boy at the time, after all, coming to terms with his sexuality.

But now things were different. The thought that he had once, ever, thought anything remotely like that about the man who was now standing in front of him made Yuuri want to burrow directly into the ground out of embarrassment and shame.

He was sure that Viktor’s body would only cause him to feel inadequate, in so many ways, in comparison. And he would under no circumstances subject himself to that.

But Yuuri could not, of course express any of this to Viktor, and certainly not directly tell the man no. So instead he ignored the question and began evasive maneuvers.

“I’ll have my father show you were they are and get you set up with a towel and a robe and everything,” Yuuri said quickly, before calling out for his father. Toshiya popped his head out of the kitchen, a smile spreading across his face as he saw Yuuri, eyes widening as he saw Viktor.

Yuuri quickly greeted his father before asking him to take Viktor to the baths. Toshiya looked a bit shocked and confused but nodded.

And with that, Yuuri all but shoved Viktor over to his father, grabbed Viktor’s bag, and ran upstairs.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri sat on the floor of one of the empty guest rooms. He’d made up the bed, swept the floors, dusted every nook and cranny, replaced the towels and tissues and toilet paper. The room was immaculate, and Yuuri knew that the next logical step would be to go back down and find Viktor.

But Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to do that, so instead he’d sat down on the floor, and was now picking at the floorboards.

He heard voices down the hall and Yuuri suddenly sat up straighter. He heard his sisters voice, talking to someone, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying, and the other person did not respond audibly.

The voices grew quiet, but the footsteps grew closer, and then the door to the room swung open.

Yuuri quickly scrambled to his feet as the door opened to reveal Mari and Viktor.

In the process of rising so hastily, Yuuri had pulled on the bedsheets, pulling them horribly askew.

“Oh, Viktor! Mari! I was just, uh, getting the room ready!” he explained, running around the bed trying to smooth out the sheets.

“Right,” Mari said slowly, looking at Yuuri skeptically. “Well, I’m going to go work on the laundry. I was just taking Viktor to his room, since he was looking a bit abandoned by his host,” she said, looking pointedly at Yuuri before making her way out of the room, and (thankfully) not closing the door behind her.

Yuuri let his eyes dart to Viktor, realizing the man was wearing nothing but a robe and slippers.

Quickly Yuuri went back to busying himself with the bed covers.

“Yuuri, the bed looks perfectly fine,” he heard Viktor say and Yuuri spun around to look at the man.

“I, er, um. Viktor—where are your clothes?”

“Hm, oh the steam from the hot springs caused my shirt to become damp and wrinkle. Your sister offered to dry and press it for me. Which is hardly necessary, I have plenty of clothes in my bag,” Viktor said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and patting for Yuuri to sit down beside him. Yuuri did so hesitantly, leaving as much distance as he could between them.

“Your family is very nice,” he continued. “They are clearly very proud of you,” Viktor stately frankly, “Although your sister seems especially protective.”

“I—er, yes. They are relieved that I am skating again.”

“As am I,” Viktor said with a warm smile. Then, carefully, he reached out and placed a hand over Yuuri’s where it lay on the bed, his finger gripping slightly into the bed covers. “Is this alright?” he asked.

What? The contact? His presence there at all? Him saying nice things to him? Because the answer to all of those things was feeling to Yuuri to be increasingly,  _no it is fucking not you’re going to cause me to have an aneurism_.

But instead Yuuri nodded, looking at the man and noticing that the robe had slipped down off of his shoulder, exposing his collar bone and the top of his chest.

Fuck, the man probably was a god after all.

Yuuri found himself springing up from the bed, feeling far too overwhelmed. Viktor grabbed his hand, probably instinctively, as it suddenly slid out from under his. His balance though had been thrown off, so Yuuri found himself collapsing back against the bed, lying on his back now, Viktor peering over him, much, much too close.

“Oh Yuuri, won’t you tell me more about yourself? I’d like to know more about you!” Viktor said excitedly.

Yuuri looked at Viktor and faltered. His heart was beating quickly in his chest and he felt sick to his stomach. Viktor was being all Viktor Nikiforov-y again. Over the past few days, Yuuri had been learning to distinguish between the two Viktor’s. He hadn’t thought about it, of course, until Viktor brought it up, asking Yuuri not to refer to him by his full name, but now Yuuri could only think of Viktor in terms of his two different personas.

Viktor Nikiforov and Viktor were entirely different people, although there were perhaps some intersections. And neither one was better than the other, essentially. But Viktor Nikiforov, who Yuuri realized was Viktor’s public persona, was confident, occasionally to the point of being cocky. He liked to test boundaries, he liked to surprise people. He possessed all the wonder and charisma of a Christmas tree all year round.

Yuuri knew Viktor Nikiforov pretty well. He liked the man, most of the time, or at least he had very much so for many years. He was consistently surprised and amazed by him. Being around or even thinking about him as he had for so long, and even now, set butterflies in his stomach.

But sometimes, now, he was beginning to want Viktor, a slightly more elusive character, who was vulnerable and kind and desperate for something but Yuuri didn’t know what.

And right now, the Russian Champion was asking this question as Viktor Nikiforov, when Yuuri knew, deep down within himself, that if he’d ever be able to even begin to answer that question, he’d have to be talking to Viktor.

Viktor Nikiforov was just too intimidating, just to confident, just too protected.

And he certainly could not answer it as the man practically pinned him down on the bed with his eyes, while wearing virtually nothing.

Yuuri had no idea how to be vulnerable and honest with a man who seemed to be crafted to hide any vulnerability that Viktor might have inside himself… that Yuuri knew, from flashes of moments over their interactions over the past few days, Viktor did possess.

He couldn't be vulnerable and honest with a man who fucking looked like  _that_.

But now the man, the man he so long adored, was making Yuuri feel nauseated, panicked, and uncomfortable.

“You have progressed rapidly since I last watched you skate. You went from having what—somewhat inconsistent triples and you did a quad toe loop in competition once, I thought.” Yuuri heard Viktor speaking, trying to focus on the words as his mind span.

Yuuri had, in his first placement of the Grand Prix last year tried to put in a quad toe loop, which he had landed in practice several times. He’d gotten the rotations in but touched down on the ice during competition. He was so shaken by even that small failure he cut it from his program. He’d hoped to put it back in at the final, but that obviously never happened.

“And now you have all of your quads. How, how did you do it Yuuri? What drove you, inspired you?”

Yuuri lay still, not sure what to say. He was not at all prepared to admit to Viktor Nikiforov what he’d gone through to learn those jumps.  

Viktor's hand, still over his, felt like an anvil, and Yuuri's heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.

“I don’t have all of my quads,” Yuuri replied instead, his voice hollow, his head turned to the side, unable to look at the man who hovered above him.

“Oh?”

“No, I don’t have the salchow.”

Yuuri thought he could feel the wave of surprise that fell off the man, as improbable as that was.

“But the flip is so much harder than the salchow.”

Yuuri wanted to roll his eyes, but he felt a little to numb, so instead he just closed them and slowly opened them again. Of course Viktor would think that his signature jump was the hardest.

“That’s entirely subjective.”

But Viktor was right, Yuuri knew. If Yuuri had every other quad, realistically, he should be able to do the salchow. It was not specifically harder than the other three, and it did in fact score less than the loop, flip, and Lutz. So it was, in fact, entirely objectively easier.

Yuuri had been worried it was a mental block more than a physical one, that kept him from landing the salchow. And he worried that if it was a mental block instead of a physical one, he might never be able to get past it.

But Viktor only hummed in response, and finally curiosity got the better of Yuuri, and he turned to look at the man. He laid eyes on him just in time to see something light up his eyes and he looked at Yuuri with excitement, clapping his hands together.

“I can teach you to do it! I’ll stay in Japan for longer. My first competition is not until November, I can stay and help you train!”

Yuuri was shocked.  _What?_

_What?_

_What!?_

He found himself scrambling up and back on the bed, pulling his hand free from Viktor's and scurrying backwards until his back bumped into the headboard.

Viktor wanted to stay in Japan for Yuuri? A man who even if he’s idolized nearly his whole life, who has only spent less than a weeks’ worth of days less than half a world away from him, wanted to stay in a foreign country, away from his coach and home rink, right before competition season began?

_What!?_

“Yuuri?” he heard Viktor call and he looked at the man, who was looking rather terrified at Yuuri’s response to the offer.

“I-I already have a coach,” Yuuri stuttered.

Viktor tried to cut in offering panicked sounding reassurances, “I didn’t mean that you’d leave your coach! It would be like, like if you were working with a specialist for a little while!”

But Yuuri could hardly hear him.

“You need to be training! And I—I’m not allowed to learn the jump anyway.”

“Aren’t allowed? Haven’t you already been working on it?” Viktor asked, his eyes flashing downwards to Yuuri’s hips, where they both knew bruises were hidden.

“I don’t. You don’t. You don’t understand. You don’t know me well enough. There is so much, so much you don’t know about me.” Yuuri felt the sting of tears and tried desperately to fight them back. “You need to go back to Russia, be Viktor Nikiforov. I can’t—I don’t. You don’t even know me,” Yuuri finished, his voice breaking and a single tear managing to escape down his cheek.

“Of course I—you’re—you’re Yuuri.” Viktor opened his mouth like he was going to say more, but seemed to shut down as he noticed the tear sliding down Yuuri’s cheek.

“This is too much Viktor. It’s too much,” Yuuri said, tiredly. “I wanted to go along with it, I wanted to go along with you because god, you’re you, but this is too much.”

“Yuuri, I’m sorry. I thought—” Viktor gasped, pleadingly. Then something seemed to settle across his face.

Viktor Nikiforov was back.

“Someday, you will be ready to learn it. And I will be the one to teach you. And you will tell me all about yourself then, too," he said resolutely.

 _Someday_. That was a nice word. Optimistic. 

Yuuri though wasn't sure he could believe in something like  _someday_  though.

“Someday, maybe, when you don’t ask me as Viktor Nikiforov,” Yuuri said, softly and honestly. He didn’t know if the man possibly could interpret what that meant, having not spent two last two days inside Yuuri’s head, but he said it honestly, just so maybe the man would know and understand.

Understand why he should go running in the opposite direction from Yuuri at the very least, so all could go back to being right with the world.

And it seemed to cause Viktor to pause, his face to falter again for a moment, giving Yuuri all the more hope.

“Look, can we just forget about this?” Yuuri said, filling the silence, “I was having a good time,” Yuuri paused, “With you,” he added. “And I’d just like, I’d like for something not to go wrong for once.”

“Me too,” Viktor murmured.

This added to a growing list of times where Viktor alluded to the fact that everything was not as right in the world for the champion as Viktor Nikiforov had always led people to believe, or perhaps that Yuuri had always just assumed.

Yuuri wanted to ask, wanted to know, what was there, deep inside Viktor, buried so deep. He wanted to know what could possibly hurt this untouchable man.

But it wouldn’t have been fair for Yuuri to ask.

Not until he could tell the man about his own demons.

And so instead he said, “I taught Vicchan a trick recently. Would you like to see it? After you get changed of course. I’m surprised he hasn’t come said hello yet. He probably fell asleep under my bed, oblivious to the world,” Yuuri said with a smile.

Viktor looked at Yuuri with a look of surprise, but then his face settled.

To Yuuri’s surprise though, it looked a bit different. It didn’t settle as firmly; his smile wasn’t as coy and confident. But his eyes still began to gleam.

Maybe, maybe this is Viktor. Maybe he understood.

“Yes, I would love that.”


	6. Hasetsu, Japan - October 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t have to tell me about it,” Viktor said.
> 
> “I wasn’t going to,” Yuuri said quickly. “But I just wanted you to know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to issue a blanket thank you for reading!!! If you'd like a personalized one, let me know in the comments ;)

Later that day they went out to see Hasetsu castle, Vicchan in tow.

Viktor had absolutely gushed over the little poodle, who looked, “So much like my Makkachin!”

Yuuri was not going to be the one to point out that that was by design.

They did not speak of skating anymore, something which Yuuri was relieved about. Something did truly seem different about Viktor that afternoon, like he did know Yuuri better. Or he at least better understood how far he could push Yuuri before he would retreat.

When they arrived at the castle, Viktor couldn’t seem to contain his excitement. He ran around taking pictures while Yuuri explained the history of the castle to him. Just when Yuuri thought Viktor couldn’t take anymore pictures, he took a dozen more.

Yuuri tried not to notice whenever Viktor snapped one of him.

“You remind me of Phichit, the number of photos you take!” Yuuri laughed as Victor tried to hoist himself up into a tree “for the angle.”

Viktor snapped one more picture, from the look of it not exactly of the castle, but of Yuuri looking up at him. Or maybe he was just looking through the shots he took. That was probably it.

Viktor quickly dropped back down from the tree, looking eagerly at Yuuri.

“Oh, your former rink mate? I follow him on social media, he seems very dedicated to his accounts. You on the other hand less so,” Viktor observed.

Yuuri looked at the ground, feeling a bit timid again as Viktor turned all his attention back to him. He was relieved, though, to find that the mentions of Phichit did not make him feel a wave of shame.

He’d texted his former rink mate and best friend a while ago, once he started training again, in an attempt to repair their relationship. His therapist had urged him to pick just one person to start with that he’d hurt after the Grand Prix final and work on that relationship. Phichit seemed like the easiest, and he was also the person Yuuri found he missed the most.

He’d gone from spending nearly all his time with the other skater, to not even speaking.  

So, one day, Phichit had sent along the standard picture of his hamsters that Yuuri had gotten every week or so for months. And Yuuri, instead of ignoring them like he usually did, this time sent a reply. He’d settled on  _cuties kiss them for me_ , which felt inauthentic, but was something he managed to send none the less.

Phichit’s response had been almost immediate. He sent back a picture of himself giving one of his hamsters a kiss on the nose. Yuuri sent back a heart. Phichit asked him how Vicchan was. Yuuri sent a recent picture.

For several weeks, every so often, they would have conversations like this. It wasn’t much. But it was at least something. A tiny step in the right direction. Until, one day, Yuuri had gotten a video call. Yuuri, at this point instinctively, almost ignored it the second his phone began to vibrate. But then when he saw Phichit’s name, he quickly, before he could talk himself out of it, accepted the call.

Phichit came into view. For a moment he looked surprised, as if he hadn’t expected Yuuri to answer (which would have been fair—he almost hadn’t).

Then Yuuri noticed that Phichit was on an ice rink, the one in Detroit. Yuuri almost began to open his mouth to say that now was not a good time to talk and to hang up, because he might just vomit if he had to watch the rink mate he abandoned skate on the rink he abandoned. But before he could, Phitchit had started to speak.

“Yuuri!” he exclaimed. “I know we haven’t talked about skating in a while, but I’ve been working on something for a while and I think I’ve finally gotten it down, and you’re the only person I wanted to show. Would you— would you watch? Please?” 

Seeing Phichit so desperate, so fearful that Yuuri would at any moment reject him—Yuuri knew there was only one thing he could say.

“Yes,” Yuuri smiled, “I would love to.”

The look on Phichit’s face instantly erased the nausea he felt.

“Okay! I’m gonna set the phone down but watch this!” he yelled as he leaned his phone against something and skated away from it. Yuuri could now see across the entire rink, Phichit skating in a curve around it, picking up speed. Then he jumped and Yuuri couldn’t help but let his mouth fall open as his former rink mate landed cleanly.

Phichit landed a quadruple toe loop effortlessly. His first perfected (or as perfected as a skater ever got a jump) quad.

Phichit raced back over to his phone, and Yuuri found that he was now excitedly cheering for his rink mate. It was a rusty behavior, but familiar none the less—cheering his former rink mate on.

“A quad toe Phichit! That’s amazing!”

Phichit, who was a couple years younger than Yuuri, had made his senior debut last year. He’d been holding it off as long as Yuuri had, hoping to have his quads, but he’d turned eighteen and reluctantly decided he couldn’t wait anymore. Yuuri had as well debuted as a senior without quads. It was a major hindrance, but if you were capable of scoring high enough in performance and/or pushing some of your jumps into the second half, as Yuuri and Phichit were, it didn’t automatically mean you completely lacked an honest shot at a medal in many competitions. You were never going to be a world champion without quads, which was something that had haunted Yuuri for years.   

Phichit’s debut had been nothing phenomenal, but it was still standard enough that since Phichit was not Yuuri, Yuuri could acknowledge that it was a promising debut for a skater who did not yet have their quads.

However, there weren’t many too national competitions in Thailand for Phichit to compete in, Phichit having been expected to easily win Thailand's national championship, so when he didn’t qualify for the Grand Prix final, it was a fairly large reduction to his season. He had, though, picked up a Challenger series competition in the fall, and been able to compete in the Four Continents, where he placed an impressive, considering, sixth place, and had gone on to Worlds.

This of course had all occurred during the time that Yuuri had disappeared off the face of the earth. And Yuuri only found out about it because Kenjirou mentioned it to him at one point while they were training over the summer in one of his many endless ramblings.

Yuuri was sorry he had missed it so much of his friend’s senior debut.

But, Yuuri realized, he could be there for him now.

“Are you going to put it in your program this season?” Yuuri asked.

“I hope so,” Phichit said and then stilled a bit. “Oh, I don’t know if you know, but I’m all qualified for the Grand Prix series again this year—placements in Skate Canada and the NHK Cup. I probably won’t make it into the final…” Phichit’s voice faded out.

“Oh my god, Phichit, that’s great!” Yuuri reassured the other man. “I’m sorry I’m such a terrible person. I never even thought to ask, or just look it up,” Yuuri flushed. “Seeding announcements went out in what, May, and its nearly September," Yuuri sighed, the familiar feeling of disappointment in himself settling over him.

Yuuri watched, then, as something settled across his friend’s face.

“I don’t think you’re a terrible person, Yuuri,” he said softly.

Yuuri had paused, surprised at the words that had left his own mouth a few moments ago that prompted this response from Phichit. He’d thought apologizing would have been hard. Something he’d have to force out after a dozen false starts. But it had slipped out without Yuuri even giving it a second thought, too caught up in falling into the patterns of their old relationship. Back when he told Phichit nearly everything, never thinking to be embarrassed or ashamed.

“I’ve done a lot of terrible things,” Yuuri whispered in response.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Phichit said resolutely.

Yuuri smiled sadly.

“I’m sorry. For everything.”

“Don’t you know I’ve already forgiven you long ago?” he said with his face so full of sympathy it made Yuuri’s whole chest ache.

“I hope I get to compete against you during the series, during the NHK Cup I imagine at least. Although from the looks of it, I’ve got tough competition in you, unsurprisingly,” Phichit added, when Yuuri didn’t speak.

“I don’t even know if I’ll qualify yet,” Yuuri said. At this point Yuuri had still been putting the finishing touches on his free skate and had no idea of the performance he would come to give.

“Trust me, I’ve read the message boards Yuuri, Japan is just waiting to have a reason to give you an invitation.”

“Even still, I’ll probably only get an invitation to the NHK Cup. It will be impossible to make it to the final with only one placement.”

Phichit laughed. “You and your Grand Prix final Yuuri. Still determined,” he shook his head. “Invited skaters are given second placements sometimes, you know,” Phichit reminded him.

“It’s not a guarantee.”

“Yuuri,” Phichit sighed, “Still as modest as ever, I see. Don’t you know that as far as anyone is concerned this season, anything regarding you is a sure thing?”

Yuuri had blushed and quickly changed the topic. He’d been so relieved to finally break through a barrier that he had not yet been able to with anyone else and apologize directly for everything that had happened after the Grand Prix final last year.

It felt so good to have Phichit’s friendship back.

And now he had Viktor’s friendship as well, an amazing turn of events.

“No,” Yuuri said to Viktor, responding to his observation about his social media habits (or lack thereof). “I am not as dedicated to any of that as he is. I only have accounts at all because he set them up for me. I can’t remember the last time I posted anything, it’s probably been almost a year,” Yuuri shook his head as he thought about how much time had passed since he’d lived a life he could even consider sharing with the world. “Are you going to be decorating your Instagram with Hasetsu?”

Viktor grinned for a moment, but then his face faltered.

“Perhaps. Some pictures though one keeps for themselves.”

Yuuri chewed on his lip and said nothing.

Instead, he gestured towards the water of the sea that you could just see through some trees down below the castle, and Viktor smiled brightly and nodded as they began to walk together.

The sun was beginning to set as they walked down to the beach from the castle. They settled themselves leaning against a railing that separated the paved walkway from the drop off to the sand of the beach once they arrived.

Yuuri stared out to the sea, Vicchan curled up at his feet, Viktor beside him. Viktor’s forearm brushed against his lightly, and Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

He felt deeply at peace. That kind of happy numbness you feel when you finally collapse into bed after a good, long day. 

“I do miss the sea, when I’m elsewhere," Yuuri found himself saying aloud in the silence. "There were great big lakes around Detroit, but they weren’t the same. Everything there felt colder, greyer."

“I can only imagine. Training so far away from home must have been hard.”

“Detroit wasn’t bad, with Phichit and Celestino. But when I came back after the Grand Prix, I hadn’t been back to Hasetsu for two years. If I hadn’t quit then, who knows how long it would have been before I got back here.”

“So you had intended to retire?” 

Yuuri realized this was the first time he’d spoken about his departure from the Grand Prix with Viktor, a conversation topic he’d refused so ardently hours before.

It was easier talking about things in conversation, though, when they came up naturally. Yuuri hated having to answer personal questions for the sake of it, and when it felt like an interrogation, Yuuri would often find himself going mute. This though was easier. 

“Yes,” he admitted after a moment. “Even once I started skating again, I hadn’t considered coming back until probably a month before I started with Kanako. And even when I did start to feel the desire to skate competitively again, I assumed there wouldn’t be a way back even if I wanted to come. But I couldn’t stop, apparently. I tried, so hard, to quit. But I only lasted a couple months before I was back on the ice.”

Yuuri couldn’t help himself and he looked over to Viktor for a moment. The look on Viktor’s face made Yuuri instantly regret it.

“You didn’t start training with your new coach until after the video?” Viktor gasped as he drew his own conclusions from the small pieces of information Yuuri provided.

He sighed and nodded, before turning back to the sunset and sea.

“You got all your quads on your own?”

Yuuri said nothing, just looked ahead at the sunset.

“Yuuri, that is so dangerous!” Viktor chided. “You could have badly hurt yourself! How did you even—without guidance and specialized training—I can’t even imagine!”

Yuuri watched as the sky faded from pink to purple.

Silence fell between them for a few moments before Yuuri spoke again.

“I’m sure my mother is waiting for us to return, she’s probably prepared a feast,” Yuuri murmured.

There was another long silence. The sunset turned into dusk.

“Yes, alright. Let’s head back,” Viktor agreed.

They began to walk back towards Yu-topia, when Yuuri realized he felt the urge to explain. He’d deflected so cleanly, and Viktor had accepted it, but for some reason, Yuuri couldn’t just let it be dropped like he thought he wanted. Something was stewing inside him. And if he didn't do something to alleviate it, he might just have to claw himself open to alleviate the building phantom pressure of internal static. He had to say something—something to make Viktor understand, although he wasn’t even entirely sure what.

Yuuri came to a dead stop, Vicchan letting out a small yelp as he suddenly ran out of his lead. Yuuri reached out and put a hand on Viktor’s forearm, causing the other man to stop with him.

“I had a difficult time, after the final last year,” Yuuri said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I made a lot of choices I’m not proud of.”

Viktor turned to look at Yuuri, eyes flicking quickly to Yuuri’s hand on his arm then back to Yuuri’s face. It took everything in Yuuri to make himself meet Viktor’s gaze.

“You don’t have to tell me about it,” Viktor said.

“I wasn’t going to,” Yuuri said quickly. “But I just wanted you to know.”

“Okay,” Viktor replied, soft eyes glued on Yuuri’s face. “Yes. Okay.”

Viktor brought a hand up and placed it over the hand Yuuri had on his arm and gave a light squeeze before letting go.

Yuuri nodded resolutely and turned to continue down the street lamp lit street, Vicchan bounding ahead and Viktor quickly falling back into step at his side.

 

* * *

 

Viktor left the next morning, having to get back to the airport to catch a flight in the early afternoon.

Yuuri found that he didn’t want the man to go after all.

But he knew he couldn’t ask the man to stay either. Viktor needed to go back to Russia and train.

Viktor needed to not see Yuuri any more vulnerable than he’d already managed to be with the man. Having the man watch him fall, watch him fail—which would inevitably happen in the process of trying to learn the salchow—he couldn’t bear it.

Yuuri knew that he wasn’t ready to learn the quad salchow yet either. The part of Yuuri that wanted Viktor to stay was the part of Yuuri that liked to think that he was in perfect mental health. It was a part of Yuuri that liked to think that the world worked in ways in which he could have anything he wanted at any given moment without facing any of the consequences of reality.

 _You have to work with the choices you have_. He didn't like working with what he had. He just longed to be able to be one of those lucky people who seemed to exist out in the world for whom things always just worked.

Yuuri had this image in his mind of Viktor staying, of Viktor effortlessly teaching him the quad salchow in the way that men taught women to do things in the movies—by standing behind them and wrapping their arms around their waists to guide their movements. But that wasn’t the reality. First of all, that would be a very impractical way to teach jumps. But mostly, both Yuuri and Viktor were unfortunately real people and not rom-com archetypal caricatures.

What would really happen if Viktor stayed was that Yuuri would probably find himself sprawled out on the ice, crying—not listening to the other man as he told Yuuri to stop attempting the jump and Yuuri trying jump after jump until Viktor tried to physically restrain him, at which point he’d run away from Viktor and never be able to look at the other man again out of shame.

Or something to that effect, anyway.

And then both Kanako and his therapist would have long conversations with him about their disappointment in him. And Yuuri, well Yuuri would want to quit skating, rather than have to face the shame of seeing Viktor again. But Yuuri this time around would know that he couldn’t just quit skating because there was nothing else for him. And Yuuri didn’t want to think about what kind of shape he’d be in then—what he might try to do then.

So, Viktor left without a single complaint from Yuuri. Left without much more than a few moments of unnecessary lingering that Yuuri was sure he was misremembering.

And Yuuri found himself in the unfortunate circumstance of missing him.

Viktor had of course exchanged contact information with Yuuri before he’d left, and sent Yuuri a message shortly after he had, but Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to reply.

_You were such a lovely tour guide, Yuuri. Thank you so much for letting me stay with your family. Tell your mother thank you again for the meal and give Vicchan a scratch for me. I hope to see you again soon. <3_

What was Yuuri supposed to even say to that anyway?

Because not only was he experiencing the awful ache of missing the other man, the ache reminded Yuuri that Viktor probably did not feel the same way.

_You’re welcome Viktor. I’ve basically loved you since I was a child so you being here was some kind of dream come true. I hope that the heart at the end of your message means that you are desperately in love with me and isn't just something you send to everyone. Please confirm._

Ha. Like he could send anything like that.

And he couldn’t casually text Viktor while the man made his way back across the world, until their conversation faded when Viktor inevitably ran out of things to say to Yuuri. Yuuri often had an easier time writing than talking, as well, and he worried he might become a bit too chatty over text and say something he really shouldn’t.

No, Yuuri couldn’t respond.

He couldn’t do anything except for lie in his bed staring at the ceiling, the thought of doing anything else too devastating.

So eventually, Yuuri managed to get himself out of bed to do the only thing he could ever do when nothing else seemed like it would be enough—he grabbed the bag with his skates and set out for the jog to Ice Castle.

* * *

 

The cool burst of air that greeted Yuuri as he walked into Ice Castles arena was welcome against Yuuri’s flushed cheeks. He sat down on a bench beside the ice and quickly put on his skates.

It felt even better to get out on the ice and clear his mind of Viktor. Yuuri skated hard. Not the kind of hard he once had, but he wanted to strengthen his stamina even more, hoping to be able to make it so he could push some of his jumps in the free program to the second half.

He still needed to talk it through with Kanako of course, and a lot of off ice training would go into building up his stamina as well. But he hoped that perhaps for the Grand Prix final, if he made it, he could attempt a world record breaking program. It was ambitious. Right now the difference between the potential max score for his programs currently and the world record were too close for Yuuri to realistically be able to score high enough. To break the world record with his programs as is, he'd need a near perfect score, which just didn't happen.

And of course, he’d need the salchow as well.

Well, that wasn’t true. He was trying to remind himself about that. Even Viktor’s record-breaking free skate only used three different quads, even if the program had a total of five quad jumps. Yuuri didn’t need to put every single quad in a single program to become a champion or break records. The salchow was the second lowest scoring jump. He definitely didn’t need it.

But he wanted it.

Yuuri didn't know when his goal had gone from just winning the Grand Prix final to breaking a world record. But Viktor was now the world record holder, and the reigning Grand Prix champion, so it seemed to go hand in hand (even if Viktor had technically broken the record the last time last season at the European championship and not even the Grand Prix series, but that was beside the point).

The point was that Yuuri wanted to try for it. It was the only way he could think to be able to win gold against Viktor. 

It had been strange, realizing he still wanted to win against Viktor even though their relationship was so different now than it had been for most of Yuuri’s career. Yuuri actually knew Viktor now. Before he’d just been something Yuuri measured himself against, always coming up short. Now Viktor was a real person to Yuuri.

But god, did Yuuri still want to beat him.

At the very least because skating against the man would mean that they would be together again.

 _Shit_ , Yuuri needed to stop feeling this way. It was beginning to border on pining. And Yuuri couldn’t pine. Not for Viktor Nikiforov.

Definitely not.

Although, admittedly, Yuuko had accused Yuuri of pining for Viktor for years.

_Yuuko._

The idea came to Yuuri quickly and he found himself running off the ice, quickly slipping guards over his blades and making his way out to Ice Castle’s lobby area. He had learned to act quickly now-a-day, when a bold idea took him—acting before he could talk himself out of it.

“Yuuko!” he yelled as he saw her behind the skate rental deck with a ledger and a stack of paperwork.

“Yuuri? Is everything alright?” Yuuko looked up quickly.

“Yes, I need your advice though.”

Yuuko’s brow furrowed.

“Okay?”

“So,” Yuuri said, beginning to feel a bit timid but determined to plow ahead before the nerves caught up with him. “Viktor Nikiforov came to see me at the regional qualifiers. And then he came back to Hasetsu. With me.”

Yuuko eyed Yuuri skeptically for a few moments before the corners of her mouth turned up with a trace of amusement.

“I heard.”

“Yeah. And then today he left.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. And I already miss him. Apparently. And it's awful.”

Yuuko started to laugh.

“Come have some tea and sit down with me,” she offered, shaking her head fondly.

Yuuri grinned sheepishly. 

 

* * *

 

Yuuri woke up slowly the next morning, keeping his eyes closed as he came awake, desperately trying to will himself back to sleep before his mind crossed too far into waking.

He had spoken to Yuuko for hours the night before, until late into the evening. They had made up for the months and years of missed time. Yuuko had been Yuuri’s best friend in childhood, but then he’d started spending more and more time away from Hasetsu until he moved away entirely. They'd spoken occasionally, but Yuuri only got the more major life updates. Her marriage to Takeshi. Their taking over the skating rink. The birth of their triplets. And then, of course, when he finally came back, he’d basically ignored her despite spending hours a night at the skating rink that she and Takeshi now ran.

But when Yuuri found himself coming down from the complicated rush of emotions that Viktor had made him feel over the past few days, on top of the rush of emotions he experienced during the regional qualifiers unrelated to Viktor, he knew there was only one person he could talk to.

Yuuko had been the person he talked about Viktor with for years. She teased Yuuri and fed Yuuri’s obsession with him. And now, suddenly, the man was in Yuuri’s life in some undefined and confusing but very at least very real and corporeal way. And Yuuri wanted to tell Yuuko all of it. So he did.

Yuuko of course was as helpful as she wasn’t.

She had been a great listener, and she knew the way Yuuri felt about the things that Yuuri described without him having to tell her. But she also seemed to think that there was a very real chance that Viktor may very well be interested in Yuuri… romantically. Apparently, the thing in the bedroom was, according to Yuuko, a textbook instance of coming onto someone. As if if Yuuri hadn’t been so freaked out and had responded more enthusiastically they probably could have maybe even done… things. Which Yuuri did not want to even consider because he knew it would be disastrous and also was definitively not true. Yuuko had always been very optimistic, Yuuri's life though, especially his love life, did not warrant optimism. 

But Yuuko planted the idea in his mind more firmly than he’d let it exist before, and so after he finally left Ice Castle and went home that night, he spent hours lying in bed thinking about it. Thinking about what it would be like for them to be together, in a very sappy, hopelessly in love kind of way.

Which of course only made him miss Viktor more.

And then came the wave of insecurity. Viktor being now so far away made Yuuri begin to doubt if he’d remembered correctly everything that happened between them. He thought that it should be ingrained in his mind, every minute they spent together. But instead it all existed in his memory as a blur. He couldn’t remember any of the exact words Viktor had said. He couldn't recall any specific moment that clearly indicated that Viktor thought anything of him at all.

And then he’d started crying a little bit, upset about being alone, upset about the possibility of there being a person out there in the world that might actually maybe even be interested in someday loving him but him being so far away, upset about how he’d never be worthy of that mans love if it were ever offered, upset about how with every passing moment he was increasingly sure that that man didn’t care about him at all, particularly not in that way.

He couldn’t remember when he’d finally fallen asleep.

His body now felt heavy though as he lay in bed the next morning, knowing the fight to fall back asleep had been lost, but still refusing to open his eyes.

And then suddenly there was the noise of his door opening, and Yuuri’s eyes snapped open. Then there a feeling of a body coming down on top of him, bony limbs colliding painfully with Yuuri’s back.

Yuuri scrambled up in a panic but relaxed a bit when he saw Kenjirou perched on his bed.

“What the fuck?” Yuuri gasped.

“Language, Katsuki. I’m young and impressionable.”

Yuuri shook his head, muttering under his breath about how Kenjirou was the only person that made him feel the urge to use such language out loud, and reached out to try and find his glasses.

“What are you doing here? Particularly in my bedroom,” he asked once he'd located him glasses and set them on his face.

“You weren’t answering your phone!”

“So you took an hour long train ride to Hasetsu to come try and crush me awake?” Yuuri said skeptically.  “What time is it anyway?”

“It’s nearly 9:30! Check your email!” Kenjirou demanded, shaking Yuuri excitedly.

“Why?” Yuuri said, placing a hand on top of the boy’s head like he was trying to hold him still. (It was ineffective.)

“You’ll have to see!”

Yuuri sighed, annoyed that now of all times Kenjirou finally was managing to be tight lipped.

He grabbed his phone and tapped open his email, scrolling through the newsletters and junk mail, wondering what he was supposed to be looking for.

And then there it was. An email from the ISU. This had to be it.

Yuuri held his breath and clicked on it and scanned the email quickly.

He’d been given an invitation to the NHK Cup in the end of November, there was probably a separate email from the Japanese Federation about that, but the ISU was also giving him a second placement—the Rostelecom Cup which was set to take place the first weekend in November, only a couple weeks away.

“Kanako got a call last night with the invitation to the NHK cup,” Kenjirou began to explain once he saw that Yuuri had found the email, “And an ISU representative called early this morning with the second placement. She tried to call you immediately of course, but you’d gone off the grid. She’s mad at you for that you know. And I’m mad at you for taking two days off for training. It’s my season that’s stalled, you have to be in Russia in two weeks!”

Yuuri had a bad habit of forgetting about his phone now-a-day, after many months of ignoring it as much as possible. He hadn’t even looked at his phone since after he’d gotten Viktor’s text shortly after he’d left yesterday.

He’d missed the news that he’d been waiting impatiently for. He’d gotten his invitation to the NHK Cup. He’d also gotten a second placement.

He had to be in Russia in two weeks.

That’s were Viktor lived.

_Obviously._

A wave of excitement rushed through him. He could see Viktor again!

Then a wave of dread. What if Viktor didn’t want to see him? What if he was too busy? Viktor trained in St. Petersburg, not Moscow. He probably wouldn't even be at the Rostelecom cup if he wasn't competing. 

And then a wave of non-Viktor related dread. He’d have to skate before the world again at a major international competition in two weeks. He had two weeks to prepare his program. Two weeks until he’d leave Japan for the first time since last year’s Grand Prix.

Then back to the Viktor related dread—what were Viktor’s placements? Was he skating in the Rostelecom cup?

Viktor was ranked number one in the world and did not have to rely on one of his countries host invitations to compete, so there was a solid chance that he’d been given placements outside of Russia. Russia might try and give him an invitation anyway, wanting to show him off in their home competition. But it wasn't a guarantee in the end he'd skate there.

Yuuri had to know immediately. He thought about looking it up, he thought about maybe even texting Viktor and asking, but both of those thoughts caused Yuuri to feel a wave of nausea.

So instead he asked Kenjirou.

“Skate America and the Cup of China. Why?” the teen responded.

“Just curious.”

“You wanted to know if you were skating against him," Kenjirou said with a smirk. “Don’t worry, you’ll hold him off until the final.”

 _No, what I really wanted to know if we’d have a chance walk around the city together occasionally accidently brushing hands until finally he grabs mine and declares his undying love for me,_ Yuuri thought.

But he certainly wasn’t going to tell Kenjirou that, who didn’t yet know anything about Viktor and Yuuri’s interactions the past couple days, so Yuuri said nothing.

Kenjirou rolled his eyes and then flopped down on the bed besides Yuuri.

“So will you come and train with me today? What were you doing, taking two days off? I assumed you must have died of something—Mr. I Must Train at Least Ten Hours a Day or the World will End. Kanako said you were fine though, but wouldn’t tell me anything else.”

Yuuri found himself smiling.

“Rest is good for the body, you know,” he said simply.

Kenjirou turned to stare at him skeptically.

“Fine, whatever. Don’t tell me. Go get dressed. If we hurry we can catch the 10:30 train,” Kenjirou said, shoving Yuuri out of his own bed.

Yuuri muttered bitterly several unsavory things about the teen, but none the less did as he said.

 

* * *

 

“I think you should go to Russia,” Yuuko said as she sat down across the table from him.

It had been several days now since Viktor left and Yuuri had thrown himself back into vigorous training. Yuuri had gotten up at 4:30 that morning to go for a run and make it to Ice Castle by 6:00 to get in a couple hours on the ice before he had to catch his 8:00 train to Hakata. He’d then trained there with Kanako and Kenjirou until he’d gotten a train back in the afternoon to Hasetsu. He’d then promptly gone back to Ice Castle for a few more hours of training.

It was seven in the evening when Yuuko had finally dragged him off the ice and taken him to dinner.

“I am going to Russia for the Rostelecom cup next week," Yuuri replied.

“No, I mean, you should stay in Russia. And take Viktor up on his offer for him to train you.”

“Viktor didn’t offer to train me. He offered to help me learn one jump. There's a difference,” Yuuri insisted enough though even he didn’t really believe his own argument. “And also I absolutely cannot do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because! I haven’t spoken to Viktor since he left. He’s probably forgotten all about me and his offer to help me. Plus, he’ll need to be training himself for the series, he can’t just take a week off to help me, a competitor.”

“He offered to before,” Yuuko insisted.

“I can’t," Yuuri returned.

“You should.”

“No, no way.”

“Fine, you don’t have to decide now anyway. But I think after the cup, you should take your gold medal and show up on Viktor’s doorstep and ask him to train you.”

“What?" Yuuri gasped. "No. I don’t even know where he lives,” he added dumbly.

“You can text him and ask," Yuuko said as if it was that simple.

“He might not even be in Russia in two weeks. And the Rostelecom Cup is in Moscow and Viktor trains in St. Petersburg.”

“He came all the way to Japan for you, you could go a little out of your way for him."

“I’m not ready to learn the Salchow," Yuuri said, hoping this would make Yuuko understand.

It didn't.

“I think you are. I think you would be if Viktor were coaching you. Talk to your therapist about it if you want.”

“I—I can’t just show up. It’s different for me. Viktor, he can do things like that. I can’t.”

“I think when it comes to Viktor, you could probably do just about anything you’d like and he’d go along with it."

Yuuri said nothing, having run out of arguments. Saying, “That’s not true,” seemed redundant and pointless.

“You should stay in Russia after you've won. I’ll buy you the ticket from Moscow to St. Petersburg myself.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Yuuri said, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

“So you’ll go?”

“Probably not.”

“But you’ll think about it?”

“Inevitably.”

Yuuko smiled victoriously.

And Yuuri made a quiet deal with himself that _if_ he won gold, he would maybe, just maybe  _consider_  extending his stay.


	7. Moscow, Russia - 2016 Rostelecom Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You should go out with me tonight,” Viktor whispered into Yuuri’s ear.
> 
> “I should?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!!! If you're looking for an easily accomplishable New Year's resolution, may I recommend leaving more comments and kudos on or otherwise supporting peoples work you like? I personally have already gotten a head start at it a few days early, as part of my larger long term goal of being a kinder person, and I think it's going well. 
> 
> Maybe next year my resolution will be to not shamelessly beg for the explicit approval of others!!! (Probably not.)

The two weeks passed too quickly and before he knew it, Yuuri found himself in Russia. Kanako had come along of course, but Kenjirou had had to stay in Japan. It was hard enough to get visas expedited for Yuuri and Kanako, it wasn’t worth the headache and cost of pushing one through for Kenjirou for such a short trip as well.

Kenjirou in the end hadn’t qualified for the Grand Prix series, either, but he seemed unphased. He was optimistic that he would do well enough at Japan’s nationals to qualify for the Four Continents, and then maybe go onto worlds. He had registered himself for a competition in the Challenger series as well, giving him at least one ISU competition in the fall and a chance to earn some points to increase his rankings.

Moscow was different than how Yuuri remembered it. He’d been to Russia twice before, both times in his Junior career, but he hadn’t been back in several years. It seemed colder this time around, and even though it was only the end of November, snow flurried in the air although it didn’t stick to the ground.

He’d also forgotten how large a city Moscow was. Yuuri hadn’t been to such a large city in a long time, and all the people and the buildings made Yuuri’s skin tingle with nerves. They’d taken a cab from the airport to the hotel, and Yuuri watched as they passed buildings and shopfronts that even through the language barrier Yuuri knew to be bars and clubs.

Russia did after all have a rather impressive (and aggressive) nightlife and drinking culture, it’s love of strong liquors world renowned. And this made Yuuri nervous. He knew other competitors would be going out on nights of the competition. Many a skater and professional athletes in general had the amount they could drink before it affect their performance around a competition down to a science. For some, training to get your tolerance up enough that you could get properly drunk but still medal was as an important part of training as, you know, learning your programs. There were of course those who didn't drink around competition at all, and they were probably in the majority, but the athletes who just couldn’t seem to turn down an opportunity always seemed more noticeable.

But Yuuri had been sober for months now. He hadn’t had a drink since the video. His therapist didn’t believe that Yuuri was an alcoholic based on his experiences, at least. He wasn’t addicted, and had no problem cutting it out of his life, but he did use it irresponsibly. Probably someday he’d be able to casually have a drink with dinner or have a few on a night out, if he wanted. But for now, until Yuuri took care of all the other ways he needed to learn to take care of himself, Yuuri and his therapist had agreed it would be best if he completely abstained.

Thankfully, though, Yuuri didn’t have any friends in the skating world besides Phichit, Kenjirou, and maybe Viktor, and none of them would be at the competition to invite him out. Well, Viktor might. He didn’t know. He almost brought himself to send a text to the Russian and ask if he’d be there. Several Russian skaters were competing—including two of Viktor’s rink mates. Georgi Popovich and a young woman, Mila Babicheva, who was making her senior debut in the women’s singles competition, also trained under Yakov and were due to compete. It wasn’t completely unusual for rink mates to come and support each other if the travel wasn’t _too_ outrageous and they didn’t have any conflicting competitions.

Phichit and Yuuri often went to each other’s competitions if they could, after all, and Kenjirou would almost definitely be at the NHK Trophy and the Grand Prix final if Yuuri made it. But then the relationships that Yuuri had with Phichit and Kenjirou were a bit special—not everyone was as close to their rinkmates as Yuuri somehow was.

But Viktor and Georgi seemed friendly enough at the final last year, so maybe Viktor would come.

Maybe even if Viktor and Georgi were really only a step up from acquaintances, he would still come.

Maybe.

He could of course just text Viktor and ask, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He and Viktor hadn’t spoken after all since Yuuri had ignored him after he left Japan.

It was probably for the best, though. Viktor probably wouldn’t be there. If he was he’d probably ignore Yuuri. Yuuri probably wouldn’t speak to the man ever again, doing nothing more than nodding politely to him in passing for the rest of his career. He’d probably screwed it up and missed his chance, like Yuuri did with pretty much every relationship of every kind he’d ever nearly almost probably could have had but instead didn’t.

Yuuri could happily spend this competition alone, hiding in his hotel room, only coming out to skate. Which was probably fine. Yuuri was already fighting hard enough to keep his nerves under control. If Yuuri was going to skate like a champion, face the press and fans and competitors like a champion, he was going to need a lot of down time to sit alone in his room and ignore everyone and probably cry a bit since Yuuri seemed to do that a lot now-a-day.

If Viktor was there—if Viktor was there and asked for Yuuri’s attention, if Viktor was there and asked Yuuri to spend time with him, if Viktor was there invited Yuuri out with other skaters—Yuuri wasn’t sure what he’d do, what he’d say.

Probably yes.

And that wouldn’t be very good at all.

But the practice sessions had come and gone and while he'd seen Yakov and his skaters, there were no signs of Viktor.

And Russian champions aside, his practice had gone well for Yuuri, which increased his confidence. Of course, the stands were empty, but he had skated in front of his competitors and their coaches and none of them laughed at him and he hadn’t fallen once, although he had marked or reduced the difficulty of most of his jumps, still afraid that if he fell in practice or warm up it would be over for him in competition. The nerves would swallow him whole.

But it had gone well, and in fact, Kanako told him that many skaters seemed intimidated by him and several coaches had come up to her and expressed awe and amazement at what they referred to as his comeback. Yuuri was viewed as a serious medal contender in this competition. If Yuuri didn’t place on the podium, it would be an upset, she’d more than implied.

And Yuuri hated it as much as he loved it when Kanako told him these types of things. Knowing them helped in a way to boost his nearly nonexistent ego. But it also put pressure on him that Yuuri was terrified he would crack under.

But a nice thing about being in Russia and not Japan this time around was that there was no particular fanfare regarding his presence.

When he’d entered the arena for warm up the day of his short program, there had been no thunderous applause at his arrival. He did seem to have a few small sections of fans, which was surprising and still shocking to Yuuri—seeing his name written across signs and Japanese flags waving up in the stands. But for the most part, this was a competition in Russia, and it was the Russian skaters the crowds were mad for.

And the special brand of noise that was associated with a certain Russian skater never came. Warm up came and went, and soon Yuuri’s competitors began to skate their short programs, and still there was no Viktor Nikiforov.

Yuuri was third to last, so he had time to wait. He didn’t particularly want to watch his competitors, worried it would spark the nerves that were currently barely under control. But Kanako wouldn’t let him leave the edge of the rink and go wait…well anywhere else in the building frankly, insisting that it was good sportsmanship to at least pretend to watch.

And quickly, as things always seemed to happen for Yuuri, it was his turn. He found himself a little excited to get on the ice. He was excited to have his less than three minutes of happiness and focus, before he could go back to his hotel and be done with the day.

He realized that he felt very content.

It was a new kind of sensation for Yuuri to feel before a performance. A happy warmth inside him, cut by a bit of healthy nervous excitement.

He took to the ice when it was his turn and skated his program.

And it was good and effortless and wonderful.

And then it was over as quickly as it started.

And Yuuri went to the kiss and cry and sat with Kanako who told him how wonderful he’d done, and also things he could do better.

And then he got his scores and was pleased to see they were just a bit higher overall than they’d been at the regional qualifier. A 94.70 was not any kind of ISU record by any means, but it was his official new personal best and sent him to the top of the score board. He still wasn’t yet breaking 100 as Yuuri hoped to be able to do by the final, but it was enough that he was still on track to the podium.

Yuuri’s biggest competitors here were Georgi, as well as Guang-Hong Ji, the Chinese skater who had made it to the final last year, and they were all expected to medal. Figure skating of course was a fickle sport, and it wouldn’t be unusual for an upset. But Guang-Hong had already gone and was a couple points under Yuuri, currently in first. Georgi had yet to skate, but Georgi had also never broken 100 points on a short program, although he’d gotten extremely close. That however was a couple seasons back, though. While Viktor at twenty-six showed no signs of peaking, Georgi, who was the same age as Viktor, was clearly not holding up so miraculously as he aged. He was still a strong competitor, but his personal bests had not been raised in a couple seasons.

Yuuri patiently waited by the rink with Kanako for the last two competitors. Finally, Georgi, who was last, finished his program and waited in the kiss and cry. Soon enough, his score came back.

95.20

Higher than Yuuri’s score by all of a few tenths of a point.

And to his relief Yuuri didn't find himself panicked or shaken. Yuuri wished that he’d come out on top after the short, of course he did. But with barely a half a point difference, as far as Yuuri’s chances for tomorrow went, it was as close as you could get in figure skating to a tie.

Tomorrow Yuuri could very easily, for the first time in international competition in his senior career, win gold.

 

* * *

 

Kanako had kept Yuuri from rushing out of the arena as Yuuri wished to, reminding him to interact with a couple fans and give a comment to the media. But of course, sticking behind meant the exit the athletes used was crowded with the competitors and coaches, as well as some of their family and fans who waited along barriers to greet them, and it was all a little more chaotic than Yuuri preferred.

He was making his way through the sea of people, trying to escape in the madness of other skaters and lingering fans, when someone caught his forearm.

And then suddenly he was standing very close to Viktor Nikiforov.

Yuuri—he’d thought that Viktor wasn’t at the competition. When had he shown up? Had he been there the whole time? Had he watched him skate? How had the fans not noticed him? How were they not noticing him now?

Yuuri did not manage to ask any of these questions out loud, however, and instead only breathlessly uttered Viktor’s name.

Viktor smiled in that way that he did and leaned down closer to Yuuri.

“You should go out with me tonight,” Viktor whispered into Yuuri’s ear.

“I should?”

“Yes. I’ll text you the details.”

And just as quickly as he had appeared, Viktor was gone.

Yuuri’s phone vibrated and he looked at it to see a text listing off the name of a restaurant, an address, and a time.

Yuuri felt a wave of panic go through him.

What was he going to do?

He was going to go. He was obviously going to go. He had to go.

 _Did_  he have to go? Was it a good idea?

Maybe he shouldn't go.

But as he thought about it, he realized that the time listed was relatively early in the evening and made it seem like a dinner type of thing, not drinks. If it wasn't drinks there was no reason for Yuuri not to do it, except to be antisocial. Yuuri was trying not to be antisocial as much as he could help it.

Yuuri could do dinner.

He could definitely do dinner with Viktor Nikiforov.

Hopefully.

And then in came a second text that shook Yuuri to his core.

_Wear something sexy for me <3_

Yuuri stared blankly at the text, reading it again and again, checking several times to make sure it was Viktor that had sent it _._

What!?

Did that count as flirting?

Was Viktor Nikiforov flirting with him?

Was this a date?

A real date, not just an ambiguous friend thing like all of Japan had probably been?

Did he have a date with Viktor?

Maybe Viktor’s English was just bad. Maybe he had chosen the wrong word. Maybe the restaurant just had a dress code and he’d meant to simply let Yuuri know to wear something that wasn’t a t-shirt and running shoes, which made up ninety percent of Yuuri’s off ice wardrobe.

Yuuri stood there staring at his phone until someone bumped into him and Yuuri found himself stuttering out apologies as he was bounced like a pin ball through the crowd.

“Yuuri, Yuuri!” he heard Kanako calling from somewhere and he looked up to see her approaching him. “Are you alright? You were right behind me and then I turned around and you were gone.”

She caught up to him and put a hand on his back, leading him off to the side and out of the crowd.

“You look dazed, are you okay?” she repeated.

“Yeah, sorry, just crowded around here,” he shrugged and then started making his way out of the arena, his mind spinning with the thought of a date with Viktor Nikiforov.

 

* * *

 

An hour later and Yuuri discovered that he did not have any sexy clothes. Definitely not with him in Russia, possibly not at all.

Most of his clubbing wardrobe had been stuffed into a box and either buried in a closet or possibly taken by his mother to a charity store. And even if he had them, he certainly didn’t want to be that kind of sexy—probably ever again since it brought him so much trouble.

The only thing that remotely fit the bill that he had in his luggage was a dark blue long sleeve shirt with a slight v neck cut that he wore training sometimes and fit his body snuggly. But Yuuri worried that wherever he was being invited might be the kind of place that called for nicer clothes than such a plain shirt. He’d tried to look up the restaurant online, but everything had been in Russian, and he honestly couldn’t tell if it was a sports bar or some sort of hot fine dining establishment from the websites few images. Maybe he could wear nicer pants? He had brought a shirt with a collar, as well, but he wasn’t sure if it was sexy.

Yuuri’s nicer clothes didn’t always fit him well, nor were they particularly fashionable. When he’d been living in the US, Phichit had always teased him about looking “frumpy,” which for a while was one of the teens favorite slightly obscure pieces of English vocabulary, until he learned newer and better and probably less sexistly connotated adjectives.

Yuuri let out a frustrated groan just as there was a knock at the door.

Yuuri stomped over to the door and swung it open.

“Yes?” he asked shortly without even looking to see who it was.

“Woah, Yuuri, is everything alright?” Kanako asked. “I just wanted to stop by to confirm your wake-up call for tomorrow morning and go over the schedule, but perhaps that can wait," she said as she stepped into the room and shut the door behind her.

Yuuri felt a bit sheepish, realizing that he’d snapped at his coach. He was behaving irrationally, but he was anxious and it was making him feel frustrated and when he got frustrated and anxious he became snappish and…

“I have nothing to wear,” Yuuri admitted, trying to sound apologetic.

Kanako appraised Yuuri’s room, which was most notably defined at the moment by his exploded suitcase.

“You seem to have plenty to wear,” she observed. “Why are you changing anyway? Usually at this point in the evening you’re glued to your bed.”

“I—um, someone invited me out.”

“Someone?”

“Yes?”

“Is this someone a certain world champion that was trying very hard to disguise himself and sit up in the stands anonymously but wasn’t fooling anyone?”

“Maybe… Wait, what? You saw him and didn’t tell me he was there the whole time?”  Yuuri said frantically as he processed what Kanako had said to him.

“I thought you knew. It was all the skaters and coaches were talking about during the short program—how Viktor Nikiforov was in the stands trying not to draw attention to himself, and obviously failing.”

Yuuri sat down on his bed, dumbstruck.

“I don’t—I don’t talk to people. Or listen to what they say.”

Hearing his competitors and their coaches talking made Yuuri anxious. He was always, always paranoid they were talking about him, even though he knew they rarely were and if they were it wasn’t essentially with malintent.

Listening to all the noise and seeing bustle around him though always made Yuuri want to claw his ears off and eyes out. He’d kept headphones on through most of the competition that day and had kept his eyes on the ground as much as he could. Previous years he’d often locked himself in the bathroom to quietly have a minor panic attack while waiting for his turn to compete, so the headphones were a already a major improvement

Kanako sighed. 

“Let me see what you’ve got,” she said going over to his bed, which was covered in clothes.

Twenty minutes later and Kanako had him dressed up in his button-down shirt, which fit him better than he remembered, sleeves rolled up (“That’s the sexy part,” she’d said), with a pair of his tighter dark wash jeans and his dress shoes. Yuuri had argued about that, he wore his dress shoes literally about five times a year—he only brought them in case of some sort of dress clothes related emergency. Why would he wear them with jeans to go to a probably fairly casual dinner? But Kanako had insisted that it would make his outfit seem classier. And classy was sexy.

And Yuuri wholeheartedly regretted telling her about the text message. Honesty and vulnerability with people close to him his ass.

“Okay,” Kanako said, patting him on the chest. “Oh! One more touch. I’ll be right back!” she called behind her as she ran out of the room, propping the door open with the flip latch as she left.

In a moment she was back, something draped over her arm.

“Here,” she said, holding out what looked to be a jacket.

Yuuri hesitantly took it and looked at it. It was a bomber style jacket that he had seen her wearing on multiple occasions.

“What do you want me to do with your jacket?” he asked.

“Wear it.”

“But it’s a woman’s jacket.”

“And?”

“Nothing, I guess.” They were about the same size, and the style was pretty unisex anyway. And even if it hadn’t been, if he liked the jacket… “But what’s wrong with my coat?”

“It’s boring, and entirely unsexy. Way too practical,” she said as she snatched the jacket back and held it open so Yuuri could shrug it on.

Yuuri did so hesitantly but did it without any more of a fight none-the-less.

Kanako pulled him over to the full-length mirror that was stuck to the back of the bathroom door and gasped.

“Look at you! So sexy!” Yuuri grimaced, but he looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was still slicked back from competition. He hadn’t washed it when he’d showered earlier, worried that it wouldn’t dry in time and that if he tried to blow dry it the result would be disastrous. He had taken out his contacts and was wearing his glasses now though. He worried the glasses were dorky, but he hated contacts, and Kanako had assured him that Clark Kent is just as hot as Superman.

“I feel like this whole thing breaks any standards for coach-skater dynamics that I’ve ever heard about ever," Yuuri said, tugging nervously at his outfit.

Kanako had always been a fairly casual person, being more like a friend to Yuuri and an older sister to Kenjirou. Her bluntness though was what made her such a good coach for Yuuri, who needed to constantly be told things very directly and honestly in order to be able to trust someone. He’d always been so formal with Ono and Celestino, afraid of being reprimanded or disrespecting them if he wasn’t, even though Phichit had been much more casual with Celestino than Yuuri had. But Kanako always welcomed informality and the openness that came with it.

“What, Celestino didn’t dress you?” she replied.

“Besides picking out my costumes, no. And Ono didn’t even do that much.”

Kanako laughed.

“Well, go on then,” she said shaking her head with a fond smile. “I’m sure you’re going to be late for being ten minutes early and walking around the block a dozen times or something.”

Now it was Yuuri’s turn to shake his head fondly. It always surprised him whenever people knew things about him without him ever having to tell them directly. It was nice, although sometimes terrifying, to know there were people like Kanako who paid attention and noticed the little things.

He made to grab his wallet and phone and step towards the door, slowly pulling it open after taking one more deep breath.

“Yuuri?” he heard Kanako call behind him. He turned back to look at his coach, who was looking at him earnestly. “Be careful, okay? Have fun. But be careful. And if you need anything, just let me know.”

Yuuri nodded, his lips pursed tightly, before he stepped out the door and closed it behind him.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri walked as slowly as he could possibly walk to the restaurant, having no interest in beating Viktor there. Darkness had fallen, but Yuuri found that the well-lit and bustling but not too crowded streets of this foreign city did not make him too anxious.

Or maybe the nervousness for his date (?) just beat out his terror of big cities he didn't know well.

Yuuri was an always early kind of person, though. Even when he tried to be late he was often at worst right on time. He didn’t understand people who were consistently late. Yuuri’s mind did rounding acrobatics and would convince him it would take him 10 minutes to walk down a flight of stairs and out the front door of his house if he just wanted to go to the bus stop across the street. It probably took about three minutes in reality, but three was a weird number, so he’d round it up to five, and then he had to add in buffer time in case he tripped, or the door was stuck, or he ran into his mother and she wanted to talk, bringing the total up to ten minutes. Meaning he spent a lot of extra time at the bus stop waiting for it to come.

So Yuuri was walking down the streets of Moscow at a snail’s pace, practically dragging his feet. Occasionally he’d step over to the side of the sidewalk and lean against a building to check the map on his phone to make sure he was heading in the right direction and check his messages to see if Viktor had texted him an update or to, you know, cancel.

But even still, Yuuri knew he was growing close to the restaurant, but was still early. He tried to slow his pace even more, but his nerves made it difficult. He approached the restaurant, ready to keep walking right by it and circle back later when his phone vibrated.

_Booth in the back. See you soon._

Yuuri stood there for a few seconds, staring at his phone. Then he took a deep breath and walked into the restaurant. He smiled at the hostess and pointed to the back of the restaurant as he walked past, looking for Viktor.

The restaurant wasn’t very large, and it didn’t take long to find him.

And his rink mates Georgi and Mila.

Yuuri approached the table and stood there awkwardly, waiting to be noticed, and feeling embarrassed that he’d clearly misunderstood.

This clearly wasn’t a date, just a casual celebratory dinner.

_It wasn’t a date._

Yuuri felt crushed, but he quickly tried to recover.

“Yuuri!” Viktor exclaimed and quickly rose out of the booth. He offered Yuuri a handshake, which Yuuri took reluctantly.

 _A fucking handshake_.

He found himself wishing he were a woman, so that Viktor might have kissed him on the cheek in greeting. But instead they were men. Men who were friends, if anything.

So, they shook hands.

Not even a hug. Viktor seemed like the kind of person who hugged. Why hadn’t Viktor hugged him?

Yuuri felt deflated as he slid into the booth, Viktor sliding in after him.

“You remember Georgi, I am sure,” Viktor introduced gesturing to his rink mate. “And this is Mila, I don’t know if you have met before.”

Yuuri shook his head and smiled at Mila, who seemed nice enough probably.

Yuuri though was mostly trying to give himself a pep talk.

Viktor had invited him out with his rink mates, that still indicated a pretty solid level of friendship. None of the other skaters were here besides the ones Viktor obviously knew well. Viktor could have invited anyone and everyone along to dinner with his rink mates, but he’d only invited Yuuri.

But it still wasn’t a date.

“So can I order you something to drink, Yuuri?” Viktor asked and Yuuri froze, having dreaded this conversation.

“Um, just a soda.”

“Anything in the soda? They serve my favorite kind of vodka here.”

“No thanks,” Yuuri insisted.

“You are of age, yes?” Viktor asked, studying him.

“Do I look that young? I turned twenty-one and knocked the last few countries off the list a couple years ago,” Yuuri said with a slightly forced chuckle, trying to keep his tone light and hoping that Viktor would drop it.

“But you don’t drink?” Georgi asked, like it was outrageous, or was he just curious. Yuuri had a hard time reading the man.

Like some kind of miracle, though, Mila came to his rescue, slapping Georgi in the arm and glaring at Viktor.

“It’s fine, I’m not drinking either. Let these old men destroy their bodies. With a competition too! They’ll say it is just one drink, and it never will be. Then they’ll say only two and even if it is, just think about the harm that’s done!” she said.

Yuuri found himself smiling thankfully at the young woman.

“You’re just jealous because you are still under age,” Georgi said gruffly, but Yuuri was now pretty sure that was his version of teasing.

“You know very well that if one of you ordered an extra drink and gave it to me no one would care. But I’m competing tomorrow, just like you, and don't need any of those toxins slowing me down,” she said glaring at Georgi.

Yuuri looked across the table back and forth between the two rink mates, and then chanced a look back over at Viktor. He paused as he caught sight of the man’s face. His eyes were full of mirth and then he started laughing.

He was so beautiful.

 _Shut up Katsuki, it's not a date,_  he scolded himself.  _He doesn't like you like that._

“Alright, alright, a soda for my Yuuri, coming right up! I will also order your meal for you,” he said with a wink and Yuuri remembered the minor fiasco at the restaurant in Japan and felt himself blush.

Yuuri also assumed he must have been imagining the possessive determiner. And also probably the wink.

This wasn't a date. Viktor probably didn't like him. This wasn't a date. 

Dinner went well, or as well as it could have in spite of Yuuri’s disappointment.

The food arrived, and whatever Viktor ordered for him is unidentifiable, some sort of stew maybe. But it tasted good at least, although Yuuri didn't have much appetite.

Yuuri wanted to be outgoing and charming and wonderful, but instead he found himself reverting to only speaking when spoken to, which in a group setting was only occasionally, even though Viktor did diligently keep looping Yuuri back into the conversation and sending dirty looks to Georgi and Mila whenever they accidently slipped into Russian.

But at some point, Mila and Georgi descended into another argument in Russian that Viktor seemed to resign himself to.

Instead he turned to Yuuri.

“Excuse them, they are always like this. Mila likes to think she’s thirty instead of seventeen, and Georgi is as stubborn as a child, and the result tends to be… disagreement.”

“No, it’s alright,” Yuuri assured, even though the angry sounding Russian being thrown back and forth on the other side of the table was not exactly soothing.

“I never had a chance to tell you, but you look… I cannot think of the right word in English,” he said with the trademark teasing smirk.

“Oh? I’m sorry, I didn’t know what kind of place this was, so I tried to compromise,” Yuuri murmured, looking down at his outfit, pushing nervously at the sleeves that were already carefully rolled up his arms. 

Viktor let out a laugh, and with a finger lifted Yuuri’s chin.

Yuuri couldn't help but let out a small gasp as he found himself looking straight at Viktor, their faces close.

It would have taken no effort at all like this for Yuuri to kiss him. He didn’t, of course, but his heart raced in his chest none the less at the thought.

“No, no, Yuuri," Viktor chuckled, "I’m not scolding you. You look,” Maybe it was the drinks that Viktor had had during dinner (he’d only had two?! Russian’s had legendary tolerance, didn’t they?), but the restraint Viktor had against touching Yuuri in Japan had disappeared, and he placed a hand on Yuuri’s thigh, stroking it gently with his thumb, “Good. Really good.  _Sexy_.”

For a second Yuuri forgot how to breathe.

“Oh,” Yuuri finally exhaled. “Um, you look good as well. You always look good though.”

“Oh, do I?”

“Of course, obviously,” Yuuri murmured and then there was a loud cough from across the table.

Viktor said something in Russian that Yuuri was pretty sure was a curse and pulled away from Yuuri quickly. Yuuri turned to see Georgi looking at Viktor with a pointed glare.

Georgi said something in Russian, and Viktor said something back. Georgi looked…concerned? Yuuri looked back at Viktor. He looked frustrated, and disappointed, and defensive, and… afraid?

Yuuri felt a touch to his hand that lay on the table and turned to look at Mila, who looked at him apologetically. Viktor and Georgi continued to argue in Russian in hushed tones.

“Sorry, Viktor gets caught up in the moment sometimes and forgets things,” Mila whispered to Yuuri in English as if to explain, although her explanation clarified little to Yuuri. “Georgi and I, we try to watch out for him when we can. I’ve only just started training with them full time last year though, Georgi knows him better, knows how to handle things like this. Viktor's done worse when he's really drunk, Georgi's gotten him out of more...dramatic situations.”

“What do you mean?” Yuuri asked.

Mila only looked at him with a puzzled look on her face.

“Don’t you know—” she began but was cut off.

“Does anyone want another drink? I would like another drink,” Viktor said suddenly in English.

“How about dessert, Viktor,” Mila suggested quickly. “Dessert might be nice.”

“Ah, yes. Dessert. Alright.”

They ordered dessert, and Viktor all but ignored Yuuri for the rest of the evening.

Yuuri couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong. Viktor had said, he'd complimented him like that, with a look in his eyes that Yuuri thought meant something. And now, this?

They paid and left the restaurant and walked back to the hotel. Mila chatted with Yuuri softly about the competition, while Viktor and Georgi remained silent.

They got back to the hotel and got in the elevator. Georgi and Mila though stayed behind after Viktor and Yuuri stepped in, Mila claiming she needed to ask a question at the desk, and Georgi electing to accompany her.

Yuuri and Viktor stood against the back of the elevator as the doors closed.

The second they shut, Viktor spoke.

“I’m sorry, this isn’t what I intended. Georgi, well, he does mean well. And sometimes it is necessary, but sometimes he just makes things worse. Everything was fine, until he drew attention to it. I know he was just worried, and he has a right to be… but well…” Viktor ran his hand through his hair as he ran out of steam.

Yuuri turned to look at him.

“I don’t understand.”

Viktor looked at him with a curious expression.

“No,” he smiled sadly. “No, of course you don’t. It is good you don't.”

The elevator doors opened on the floor Yuuri's room was on and he reluctantly stepped out.

“I wish you luck tomorrow, Yuuri. I have to leave right after the competition, Yakov is already mad enough at me for missing practice time, so I don’t know if I’ll get to speak to you again.”

Yuuri, feeling so confused, found himself reaching out to hold the door to keep it from closing. He didn't know what had happened, and he needed to know something.

“Yakov doesn’t encourage you to support your rink mates?”

Viktor laughed.

“No,” he shook his head. “I am both a distraction and always looking for a distraction, which according to Yakov is trouble. This is the first Rostelecom Cup I’ve ever been to that I’m not competing in," Viktor said before dropping his voice lower. "If the media asks, I’ll tell them I came out to support my rink mates and scope out the tough competition this season. But really, I only came to see you. But I guess that just turned out to be making trouble.”

Yuuri’s hand fell from the elevator door and covered his mouth as he gasped.

“I don’t understand.”

Viktor smiled as the elevator doors slid shut.

“Goodnight, Yuuri.”


	8. Moscow, Russia - 2016 Rostelecom Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This night had been strange and disappointing, sure. But a little down the road he’d probably tell Phichit or Yuuko and how they would laugh about it!
> 
> Or something.
> 
> Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, in which Yuuri apparently can't catch a break, and representation matters.

For the first half an hour after the confusing disaster of a not date Yuuri felt pretty okay.

He was actually proud of himself for how pretty okay he felt. He was handling things. He could do this. He could be mature and rational and shrug this night off without making a big deal out of it.

That’s what people did, didn’t they? They were always so chill and casual about things. They dated and went on bad dates and the world kept turning for them. Things didn’t hurt them like they hurt Yuuri. He was going to be a normal person for once. This night had been strange and disappointing, sure. But a little down the road he’d probably tell Phichit or Yuuko and how they would laugh about it!

Or something.

Right?

Yuuri took another shower to wash the gel out of his hair and changed into a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt and crawled into bed. He sent a text to Kanako, letting her know that he’d gotten back alright and had multiple alarms set for the next morning (even though he’d probably wake up at some atrociously early hour before his alarms went off and be too anxious to go back to sleep anyway). He put his headphones on with some music and laid back to go to sleep.

He could do this. He was going to go to sleep and wake up in the morning well rested. He was going to go skate his free skate program beautifully. He was going to win gold and be one step closer to the final.

Everything was fine.

It was fine.

And that was of course when it hit him.

Everything wasn’t fine. Everything was fucked up and of course it was because Yuuri was fucked up. He wasn’t the kind of person that got to be happy or that got to be normal. It had been so foolish to think that maybe he was. How could he think even for a second that Viktor was going to ask him out on a real date and it was going to go perfectly and magically? How could he be so stupid?

 _I mean what the fuck?_  Yuuri thought as he buried his face into the pillow and fought back the threatening sting of tears.  _What the actual fuck had gone on that night_?

Was this all some kind of big joke? Was Viktor messing with him? He’d heard rumors and gossip of the harshness and occasional cruelty of Russian skaters throughout figure skating history, but he’d thought that Viktor was one of the good ones. Yuuri watched interviews and videos of the man for years, and Viktor was always so polite and professional to everyone. Was that all a facade?

But Yuuri shook away those thoughts. If something was stirring under Viktor’s persona, it had never once seemed to be something cruel. And Viktor hadn't been cruel to him that night. Viktor had never been cruel at all.

He was just confusing. So damn confusing.

The not date had started off very normally, after all, like Viktor thought of him as a friend. Which was crushing, but in the grand scheme of things probably fine, probably to be expected. But then there had been that moment where Viktor had complimented him. He’d told Yuuri he looked  _sexy_  while  _rubbing his thigh_. That seemed aggressively flirty. There was no way Viktor hadn’t been hitting on him. But maybe it was a cultural thing that he’d been misreading? Or a Viktor thing? Because what happened next certainly threw a wrench into that possibility.

Because then everything had once again shifted, and Viktor was arguing with Georgi and then not speaking to Yuuri. And then in the elevator he’d been sad and apologetic and kind but also so closed off and distant.

Yuuri couldn’t keep up with the man’s mood swings. He couldn’t figure him out. And it was driving him crazy, possibly literally.

_Of course he doesn’t like you. Of course. You can barely hold a conversation. Just because you can skate decently now doesn’t mean you’re any better of a person. It doesn’t mean your worthy of someone like Viktor Nikiforov. Of course he doesn’t like you._

_He probably doesn’t even like men_ , Yuuri thought bitterly.

There are some straight guys or at least definitively not interested in being openly not straight guys that do that, aren’t there? Who pretend to like gay men just to get them vulnerable and then to crush them, mock them, hurt them. Or who think it’s funny, some kind of joke. He’d heard stories in the news when he’d lived in America of people using dating apps to prey on gay man—at the very least to out them or bully them, at worst to assault them or try to kill them. Or for a less violent offence there were at least those straight celebrities who act all androgynous and hint that they might be not straight and occasionally publicly flirt with other men like it's some kind of joke but never confirm anything and in the meantime quietly but aggressively date exclusively women.

Viktor was probably one of those men. Definitely the second, at least, now that Yuuri thought about it.  

That made more sense than Viktor liking him, of all people, at least.

Yuuri didn’t have too much experience with relationships, of course, but he knew that was how things went. He knew the chances of finding someone to love him and for it being happy and healthy and normal weren’t great. He knew that this was probably going to be his lot in life. He’d be forty and Viktor would be married to some beautiful international supermodel with 2.5 beautiful children and he’d be jacking off at night alone in his bed to that one good-ish memory of the time Viktor Nikiforov touched his thigh.

Because that’s how every film went, didn’t it? Gay guy falls in love with probably straight guy. Probably straight guy turns out to be not straight maybe. There is one maybe even a few blissful interactions of some sort of intimacy. But then probably-straight-but-maybe-not-guy in a moment of panic when others accuse him of being not straight lashes out against gay guy. Best case scenario gay guy moves on with his life all sad and traumatized and resigned to living in a world where no one will probably ever love him. Worst case scenario he dies. Best case scenario probably-straight-but-maybe-not guy shows remorse from a distance but is still not remotely ready to come out. Worst case scenario he dies.

God, Yuuri had thought his life felt like a movie when Viktor Nikiforov entered it, he just hadn’t been able to figure out the type of movie until right now.

It should have been obvious. The life that he’d been picturing with Viktor wasn’t one that actually existed in many places that Yuuri had ever actual seen, fiction or reality.

But then, this all probably wasn’t even fair to put on Viktor.

Maybe Viktor Nikiforov did like men. Maybe he just didn’t like Yuuri.

Because who on earth could ever really come to love Yuuri? Yuuri was at best the kind of person someone would maybe settle on if there were no better options.

Then the amendment came more quietly— _No, I’m at best the kind of person you fuck in a club toilet but wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole anywhere else._

But Viktor had touched him!

 _He’d been drunk. Drunk-ish. Drunk enough, apparently._ Yuuri so helpfully remembered. _It never counts if they’re drunk._

 _The phantom feeling of hands on his head_ —except when it does.

Yuuri had never thought that anyone would ever love him like that anyway. It had been too much to expect Viktor Nikiforov of all people to. He'd thrown his life into figure skating and accepted that he was not going to be the kind of person that got to say, "Oh I'm not looking for a relationship right now," and then fall into one a month later. That cosmic rule didn't apply to him. Besides his relatively brief clubbing stint, very few people had ever displayed real interest in him in real life.

There had been a few weird online interactions in college when he tried dating apps for a little while, and a brief and odd relationship, once. But nothing, nothing remotely like the way he felt about Viktor, and so desperately wished Viktor felt about him in return.

So Yuuri accepted it.

Until and besides Viktor, a fantasy of some white-picket fenced future felt too unrealistic to let himself seriously spend any amount of time daydreaming of—he’d always been too terrified that imagining that kind of happiness and domesticity would jinx any small chance he had of it ever being a reality.  

And he believed that, all of it. He knew, somewhere in him, that all of it couldn’t have been true, that all of it wasn’t true. But enough of it was in some way or another—enough for him to believe the rest.

Fuck, he was crying again—drowning again.

Was he breathing? When had he stopped breathing? Could he breathe?

He gasped and grasped at his chest and his throat as he felt like he might just suffocate on his own saliva even though his mouth was dry.

He flew out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom and filling a cup with water.

He sat on the toilet, counting his breaths in and out, and sipping at the water he clutched in his trembling hand.

He was going to die, possibly right now if he didn’t get his body to remember how to breathe right. And he was going to die alone.

If this is what falling in love was like, Yuuri was beginning to think it might not be worth it.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri woke up the next morning feeling like he’d been dipped in lead.

He couldn’t remember when he’d fallen asleep last night, but at some point, he’d stopped crying and shaking and started breathing and just lay there feeling worse than he had in a long time, curled up in a nest of towels he’d haphazardly made on the shower floor because something late last night had told him that that was the only place he’d be able to fall asleep—the bed in the other room seeming too large and open and leaving him too vulnerable.

At some point he must have finally passed out.

But now he was awake and had shit to do.

Fuck.

He checked his phone—recovering it from within the towel nest—to notice he’d slept through his alarms and was due to meet Kanako in the lobby in about 15 minutes.

Double fuck.

He resigned himself quickly though to getting up and getting ready for the day, if anything because his limbs now all seemed to ache as he tried to unfold from against the shower walls. He went about his morning routine, or at least the bare minimum version of it—the one where teeth brushing would be replaced by a mint after breakfast if he remembered, hair combing would be replaced by running gelled fingers through his hair before the competition, and getting dressed meant putting on his warm up jacket over the sweats he’d slept in even though they had a musk of dried sweat.

The whole time though he kept trying to shake off the feeling that had settled over him. But it just wouldn’t leave. He didn’t feel anxious. He just didn’t feel anything.

After he’d gotten everything together as well as he could, he went to meet Kanako in the hotel lobby, trying to will himself to feel more energized, but failing miserably.

“Good morning, Yuuri!” she greeted with a warm smile as Yuuri walked over to the chair she’d been sitting in the lobby while waiting for him.

“Morning,” the word left Yuuri’s mouth with great struggle, the word cracking out of his throat as he warmed up his voice for the first time that day. Forcing his lips into a small smile took even more effort.

Kanako’s smile instantly fell as she observed him.

“Are you alright?”

 _No_. Yuuri thought.  _No, I don’t think I am. Something snapped inside me late last night I think, and I feel like I’m dying—like my life force has been drained out of me and there’s barely anything left._

But he couldn’t tell Kanako that. He knew even if he tried to open his mouth and force the words out, they wouldn’t come.

He wasn’t even quite sure what he would say to explain how he felt.

His entire body felt kind of like it did when he got the flu, a weighty exhaustion that doesn’t get better no matter how much you sleep. But he didn’t have any other flu symptoms. He wasn’t sick at all physically.

He was probably just tired and emotionally exhausted, and it wasn’t worth talking about. Certainly not when he had a gold medal to go win.

The thought filled him with a numb dread _—_  duller than usual but enough to make his breath catch in his throat.

Could he win a gold medal like this? Would skating fix this?

Yuuri could only hope and pray.

“I’m fine. Just a little tired this morning,” Yuuri explained in half truths.

“If you’re sure,” Kanako said and Yuuri only nodded in response.

Yuuri and Kanako arrived later at the rink and Yuuri continued to fight the urge to just collapse onto the ground and refuse to move even though he felt like he was turning to stone.

He tried to get himself excited for his program. Skating always made him feel better. It was his one thing, in the sea of all the other shit, right? Soon he’d be swept up in his free skate and then in everything that would inevitably come after, and the way he was feeling right now would be quickly forgotten.

Yuuri went out on the ice for his warm up though and didn’t feel any better as he began to skate. He felt heavy. How was he supposed to jump when he felt like the atmosphere had shifted just for him and there was some sort of extra gravity force field around him?

He skated harder, trying to get his energy up, but nothing changed. In a moment of desperation, he broke his cardinal rule of warm ups—no jumps above a triple.

The quad flip was underrotated and Yuuri found himself tumbling out of it and slamming into the boards—the jump having covered more ice than he’d planned for. He sat on the ice, bringing his hand to rub at his face. When he pulled it away it was coated in blood.

“Katsuki! Are you alright? Yuuri!” someone was calling him.

Yuuri turned and found himself looking at Guang-Hong, the young skater falling to his knees besides Yuuri.

“The medics are on their way,” another voice said, and Yuuri turned again to see Georgi standing over him. He could faintly hear a fuss arising from the audience as well.

Yuuri wiped at his face again, identifying his nose as the source of the bleed.

Just a nose bleed, Yuuri could have laughed if he wasn’t so drained.

He moved to push himself up from the ice.

“It’s just a nose bleed.”

“You smacked your head, you could have a concussion,” Guang Hong said, placing a hand on Yuuri’s arm in a feeble attempt to keep his still.

“I’m fine, I just need to go clean up,” Yuuri shook his head as he got to his feet. “I’m fine.”

And with that Yuuri shakily skated away, exiting the rink and slipping on his guards.

Kanako was there in an instant, but before she could say anything, Yuuri spoke.

“It’s just a nosebleed, I’m going to go clean up. If you’re really worried about it, I’ll go check in with a medic after I wash this blood off my hands before I get it all over my costume.”

Yuuri made his way to the toilet, glad the Kanako didn’t protest or at least not try aggressively enough to stop him. He was relieved to find that all the stalls were empty, as well. Empty toilets were a sanctuary to Yuuri. He knew some people thought public toilets were bacteria ridden hell holes to be avoided at all costs, but Yuuri often found that they were places of privacy and reprieve for when the world was too much. 

He went over to the sink and turned the water on, running his hands under it. Then he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

He gripped the counter as he stared at himself, dried blood coating his upper lip, face slack, eyes tired.

He looked terrible.

And in that moment, he knew he was going to fail again. He should just withdraw right now. He was going to fail.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry.

Instead he just stared, unblinking, into the mirror.

Then the door opened. In the reflection of the mirror, Yuuri saw Viktor run in and stop once he saw Yuuri, the door slamming shut behind him and Viktor standing with his back against it.

“Yuuri—” he gasped, out of breath.

Yuuri said nothing.

“Are you alright?” he asked, taking a step forward, but then stepping back against the door as someone tried to push it open, turning around to say something in Russian.

Yuuri thought he might have heard some muffled Russian in response on the other side—maybe Georgi’s voice but he didn’t know well enough to tell for sure. After a brief exchange, Viktor shut the door and stepped further into the room.

“Are you alright? I saw you crash," he asked.

Yuuri just stared ahead.

“Yuuri, please, are you alright?” Viktor pleaded.

“What are you doing here, Viktor?” Yuuri asked tiredly, still watching the other man only through the reflection.

“I had to see if you were okay. You crashed—I was worried—everyone was worried. It looked bad until you got up and walked away.”

Now that was the story of Yuuri’s life wasn’t it—it looked bad until he got up and walked away. Yuuri looked down into the sink and shook his head.

“No. Why are  _you_  here? Not my coach or a medic, you?” Yuuri asked, daring to look back up to meet Viktor’s gaze through the reflection.

“Look—” Viktor said, and then paused. He closed his eyes slowly and when he opened them again they were so earnest. “I’m sorry for being so—what’s the expression?—hot and cold last night. I just—” Viktor paused. “I just—I wanted to see you. I wanted to see you,” he repeated.

Yuuri continued to watch the other man in the mirror, not ready to turn around and face him.

Viktor wanted to see him? But what did that _mean_? What did any of it ever mean?

He had to know. It was killing him. He was going insane.

Yuuri took a deep breath and began to speak, the words tumbling out easily now—like he was too tired to second guess, too exhausted to keep them in.

“You were upset, Viktor, when I wouldn’t let you interrogate me about myself when you came to Japan, but you always speak to me in half sentences full of ambiguous implications,” he began slowly. “And I—I just need to know. I need to know things because I’m going—” Yuuri’s voice cracked and he fumbled. “I’m going crazy trying to figure you out.”

Viktor looked at him with wide eyes, mouth taking the shape of an 'o' as he gasped.

“This is—I think you and I are so much alike Yuuri,” Viktor said, taking a step forward quickly but then stopping himself right behind Yuuri, as close as they could be without touching. “I think we are so much alike and I need that. I need to know someone like me. I need to know I’m not—” but Viktor paused and didn’t finish the sentence. “I’m sorry,” he admitted again instead. “I’m trying harder to not be Viktor Nikiforov around you, but I don’t—I don’t know who I am otherwise. I haven’t been anyone else in so long," he whispered.

Yuuri was stunned speechless at the admission.

Viktor had understood, back when Yuuri told him sideways about how he didn’t always want Viktor’s Viktor Nikiforov persona. And now Viktor thought they were the same? How could Yuuri be the same as someone like Viktor?

But then here the man was, saying something aloud that Yuuri felt all the time.

Yuuri didn’t know who he was most days either—it had been months since he started skating again and still he didn’t feel like he knew how to be a person most days. Did Viktor feel the same? How could Viktor feel the same?

But Yuuri couldn’t ask that, so instead Yuuri repeated a variation of what Kenjirou had said to him all that time ago when Yuuri had first admitted aloud his own doubts over who he was.

“I think whoever you are must be pretty amazing,” he whispered.

Viktor looked at him, disbelieving. Then his face softened.

“We’ll talk—someday, won’t we? We’ll both find the words and I can tell you—and you can tell me—” Viktor stuttered desperately, that very Viktor like mirth and charm just beginning to twinkle in his eyes. Then another look came across his face and he let out a small gasp. “Yuuri can I ask you something—please I need to ask you something before—” Viktor began but Yuuri was already nodding as the other man continued to babble. Viktor gasped again. “This is probably too much to ask—I don’t know how I can ask this—I’m not good at this— but can you skate for me today? I need—if I see you skate for me then maybe it will help me know—help me understand.”

Yuuri found himself gaping up at the other man, unsure what to say.

Before the man walked in, Yuuri was thinking about withdrawing from the competition, and now Yuuri was supposed to skate for him?

This was the second time Viktor had put things off for _someday_ , and Yuuri didn't know if that would ever become a tangible place.

“You seem to expect a lot out of someday, Viktor,” Yuuri said, shaking his head. “I can’t say I am as optimistic for a _someday_ right now,” the bitter words slipped out before Yuuri could think to censor them.

Words had felt too heavy for his tongue to lift just a few moments ago, but now Viktor was here, and he was unraveling Yuuri just with his presence.

Yuuri didn’t speak again though, not for a long moment. They stood there in silence until Yuuri found the words he wanted.

“What will you do for me?” Yuuri asked. “If I do that for you, what will you do for me?”

“Anything,” Viktor said quickly, but Yuuri shook his head.

“No, I don’t need anything. I need something. I really need something.”

Viktor seemed to take Yuuri’s statement seriously, looking at Yuuri carefully while he became lost in thought.

“Yuuri—can I touch you?” he said after a moment.

They were already as close to touching as you could get without actually touching anyway.

Yuuri shrugged and nodded.

“I like when you ask,” he found himself murmuring.

Then Viktor reached out and wrapped his arms around Yuuri, pulling him into a tight hug against his chest.

Yuuri gasped at the contact and watched them in the mirror, unable to believe what he was seeing—Viktor Nikiforov pulling Yuuri into him, nuzzling the top of Yuuri’s head with his nose, arms wrapping protectively around him the way a child might clutch their favorite teddy bear.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Viktor whispered. “About everything. All of it. Everything,” he sighed. “There is so much I’m trying to figure out—and I don’t, I don’t handle it well. I’m not…good with my emotions all the time. And I’m really not good with other peoples,” he admitted and then his voice somehow dropped even softer, only just loud enough for Yuuri to make out the words that were murmured so close to his ear. “I might not always be someone you deserve. But if I need you to know anything, it’s that I need you around. I want you around me, as much as I can have. Don’t doubt that.”

Yuuri stood there for a long moment, wrapped in the other man’s arms, watching them together. He waited for Viktor to make a move to pull away, but the man never did. He held Yuuri tightly until Yuuri began to feel something stir in his chest.

“You want me?” Yuuri gasped in disbelief as his body began to tingle with warmth and nerves, Viktor's words finally settling in.

“Yes,” Viktor breathed softly. Yuuri felt the word tickle across the tip of his ear.

“Okay,” Yuuri breathed. “It’s okay. For now. It’s enough. It’s enough for now.”

Yuuri bent up his arms, which had been hanging limply at his sides through the embrace, so that his hands came to be placed over Victor’s hands where they lay across Yuuri’s chest.

Of course, Yuuri had no idea if it was enough. He had no idea if he’d leave the bubble Viktor was wrapping around him and break down again. He didn’t know if he’d wake up tomorrow feeling too much or nothing. He had no idea if he’d lie in bed tonight unable to breathe. He had no idea about any of it.

But for now, in this moment, if felt like enough. Enough to leave the bathroom and go step out on the ice, if nothing else.

Enough to want to skate better than he’d ever before, so that maybe just maybe Viktor would be able to love him—if those were even the stakes.

Then there was a knock at the door and Viktor let out a sigh.

“That means your group is next. You should go get cleared by a medic and stretch out again,” Viktor said, but still didn’t let go of Yuuri.

“Right, okay. Right,” Yuuri murmured.

After another moment, Viktor finally let go and stepped back and Yuuri made his way towards the door, stopping just before he reached out to open it.

“You don’t have to hide in the stands, you know," he said. "Everyone knows you’re here. I saw Mila and your coach by the ice earlier with Georgi. You could watch with your team. You’d be closer—you could see better,” he said quietly, looking at the ground instead of the man he was speaking to.

“Yes,” Viktor replied eventually. “Okay. Georgi is right after you as well,” he added.

“Yes, there is nothing wrong with supporting your friends,” Yuuri said, finally looking up at the man to meet his gaze head on without the protection of the mirror.

Viktor’s brow furrowed, Yuuri couldn’t imagine why, but he let it go.

“Yes, of course,” Viktor said. “Of course.”

Yuuri offered him a small smile before turning back to the door and pulling it open. He found Georgi leaning against the wall besides the door.

“Oh, good, finally,” the other Russian said. “Get to the medics and go find your coach. There are only a few more programs before yours.”

Yuuri nodded and walked away, not giving himself time for a second thought. Georgi stayed behind, presumably to wait for Viktor, who hadn’t followed Yuuri out of the bathroom.

He got to the medic’s station to find Kanako there waiting for him. As the medics checked him over, she alternated between worriedly fussing over him and yelling at him in frustration for wandering off and not talking to her this morning even though something was clearly wrong and for not paying more attention during warm up and making sure he had enough space to jump and for  _how could you be so foolish_  and for  _were you trying to hurt himself again?_

Thankfully though, the medic cleared him quickly to skate. It was just a bloody nose. His nose wasn’t even broken. There was no concussion. He might have some bruising, but otherwise he was in perfect health.

He and Kanako made their way back to the rink just in time for Guang Hong, who had finished the short program in third, to begin his free skate.

The young teens program was impressive for someone his age. He only had one quad, to Yuuri’s knowledge, but he used it well. He had after all made it to the final of the Grand Prix in his senior debut at 14, which was a majorly impressive feat. It was unfortunate that he was in position for third in this competition, but still there was a small possibility he could make it to the final again.

Soon though, the Chinese skater finished and made his way off the ice to the kiss and cry, and it was Yuuri’s turn.

Yuuri took off his guards and his jacket and handed them to Kanako before taking to the ice.

 _Skate for Viktor_ , he reminded himself.  _If there is any chance that I’m ever going to be worthy of someone like Viktor, it will be through skating._

He did always feel so beautiful during this program after all.

Would Viktor think he’s beautiful?

Yuuri found himself blushing just at the thought.

He made his way to the center of the ice and formed himself into the opening position. As he looked up, he found himself staring straight at Viktor.

Just as the music started, Yuuri winked at him.

He couldn’t miss the look of surprise that crossed Viktor’s face before he clapped his hands together under his chin and smiled.

And just like that, Yuuri found lightness and grace as he took off, skating backwards across the ice.

And it was as easy, easy as it always had been. And if felt so beautiful.

 _Do you think it’s beautiful, Viktor?_  Yuuri thought.  _I can be beautiful for you. I could be something to you—if you’ll let me, I could try and be something to you._

And the mess of it all evaporated, as Yuuri imagined Viktor skating beside him on the ice.

Yuuri finished the program to find himself staring right at Viktor again. The man’s mouth was hung open just a bit for a moment before he snapped it shut. He gave Yuuri the smallest of nods and Yuuri smiled back, before Yuuri skated off the ice and made his way to the kiss and cry.

His scores were high. He hadn’t broken 200 again, but he was close. His score of 193.70 was just a few points under the record for the Rostelecom cup free program that Viktor had set last year. And before Viktor had come along, the record had been in the low 180’s.

But the score none the less put him at the top of the score board. No matter what Yuuri had silver.

And he hadn’t failed. Somehow, he’d done it again.

Yuuri looked across the rink to see Viktor with his coach and Mila, watching Georgi as he took to the ice.

Despite a nagging feeling that he should be angry at the Russian champion for somehow once again managing to string him along, Yuuri could only feel thankful that Viktor had come to him and wrapped him in his arms and made Yuuri feel fixed for just long enough to carry on.

Georgi’s program began, but Yuuri didn’t watch. Instead he watched Viktor as he watched his rink mate, unable to take his eyes off the other man.

And then it was over, and Yuuri finally had to turn away as Kanako directed his attention to the score board as they waited for Georgi’s scores to come in.

189.50

Yuuri had done it. He’d won gold.

He’d slept in a bathtub last night. He’d crashed during warm up. He’d considered withdrawing. And despite it all, Yuuri had just won the first gold medal in international competition of his senior career.

As Yuuri stood on the podium, all he could think about was how Viktor had told him he wanted Yuuri around, as much as he could have him.

He'd told Yuuri not to doubt that.

He’d look up train tickets to St. Petersburg when he got back to the hotel.


	9. Russia - November 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Could you, just, not talk me out of this?” _Because it would probably be pretty easy to do._ “I feel like I have to do this,” Yuuri said, realizing he already sounded pathetically defeated.

Yuuri was leaving the arena, gold medal around his neck, when someone caught his arm. For a second he hoped that once again it was Viktor, but Yuuri knew the man had already left. The last time he had seen Viktor even from a distance was after he’d skated his program, and Yuuri knew Viktor was likely already on his way back to St. Petersburg.

He wished Viktor had been able to stay around for the medal ceremony and then afterwards. He wished he’d…well Yuuri wasn’t sure what he’d wished. That Viktor would ask him out on a date again but this time it would be a real date and it would be perfect and wonderful and magical, maybe?

Where did he get off still having so much hope—even after approximately fifty percent or his relationship with Viktor was a disaster and one-hundred percent of it was entirely undefined?

He imagined the answer to that question lay in the other fifty percent, which was so great, it was somehow enough.

And Yuuri found that he was already missing the man again.

Perhaps he shouldn’t. But he did.

He’d see him again soon enough though, hopefully, Yuuri reassured himself.

So when he turned to face the person belonging to the hand that grabbed him, he didn’t find Viktor. Instead he turned to find himself facing Guang Hong.

“I just wanted to say congratulations,” the Chinese skater said after a moment, looking a bit nervous.

“Thank you, you did well too,” Yuuri said politely.

“I was excited to see your programs in person!” the teen grinned timidly.

Yuuri smiled and nodded, still not very good at accepting praise or the fact that lived in a world where other people, you know, thought about him ever.

“I also just wanted to um, check and see if you were okay. Your crash had everyone worried. Even Viktor Nikiforov—you should have seen the look on his face, I thought for a second he was going to run out on the ice.”

“What?” Yuuri asked, surprised at this piece of information.

“Yeah, I was closest to you though, so I skated over and there was so much blood, I don’t know how it wasn’t more serious,” Guang-Hong seemed to be nervously rambling now, a side that Yuuri hadn’t seen before of the teen who he’d previously had fairly limited interactions with. But as he looked at the nervous looking young skater before him, Yuuri realized he saw a bit of himself in him—although perhaps maybe not the best parts.

“Hey, um,” Yuuri cut in, “It’s a bit crowded here, why don’t we meet up back at the hotel and talk some more, if you’re sticking around tonight?”

“Really?” Guang-Hong gasped. “Yeah, okay, sure,” he agreed, sounding disbelieving.

“My room number is 431. Stop by later if you want.”

“Okay,” Guang-Hong nodded and smiled timidly before running back over to his coach.

“Aw, look at you, being the idol every young skater needs,” Kanako gushed. “You made his day. He looked about ready to shit himself, just talking to the big scary gold medalist—and then you asked him to hang out with you. He’s probably hyperventilating in excitement!”

“What are you talking about?” Yuuri asked. “He’s friends with Phichit. They trained together for a little while over the summer,” Yuuri said, remembering something Phichit had mentioned but Yuuri hadn’t thought much of—and had not actually been a factor in his spur of the moment decision to invite the younger skater to spend time with him.

Phichit _had_ mentioned, though, that he’d been talking to Guang Hong and Leo since the Grand Prix final last year, and that he’d invited them to come train for about a month over the summer in Detroit with him in one of their conversations. Yuuri had elected not to think about the information too much, though, anxious that it would spiral into a you-betrayed-your-best-friend-and-now-he’s-replaced-you inner monologue that would end in him crying himself to sleep, and instead Yuuri had all but forgotten about it.

“We’ve met before as well, at the last final,” Yuuri continued. “I figured, you know, I don’t have plans. And this is what skaters do, don’t they? They hang out and celebrate together in their down time.”

That was the truth, Yuuri realized, as to why he had invited Guang Hong. The other skater may have been over five years younger than him, but he was seemingly nice enough person—a person who seemed very likely to be just as terrified of the world and self-isolating as Yuuri had been at his age. If an older competitor had shown that kindness to Yuuri when he was young, well maybe it would have made a small difference. His friendship with Phichit and Leo was already far more than Yuuri had had at that age, but Yuuri felt like he could try and help the young skater even more, even if only in this small way.

Kanako smiled and then reached out to muss Yuuri’s hair teasingly. Yuuri yelped and backed away defensively.

“Even so, it’s nice,” she said as they walked away. “That you have friends now,” she elaborated.

“Oh, shut up,” Yuuri muttered.

“Show some respect for your coach,” Kanako chided, but Yuuri only rolled his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri got back to his room and thankfully found that the maid had cleaned up any of the wreckage that had been made during his hard night—the bed was now made, and towels taken out of the shower and replace with clean ones that were carefully folded onto shelves.

He only had a few minutes to store his skates and costume in the wardrobe and to change into something more comfortable before there was a knock at the door.

Yuuri opened it to find Guang Hong, as expected, and told the young skater to come in.

Guang Hong stepped into the room, and for a few moments, they’d stared awkwardly at one another.

“Uh, so you’re sure you’re really okay, yes?” Guang Hong asked after a moment.

“Oh, yeah, perfectly fine,” Yuuri responded.

That seemed to be where their ability to converse ended as they stood in the entry to Yuuri’s room.

Maybe this was a weird idea after all. There had always been a reason Yuuri didn’t have friends, and particularly a reason he didn’t initiate the friendship.

Yuuri snapped out of it enough to quickly offer Guang Hong a seat in an arm chair that was sat in the corner of the room, and Yuuri took a seat across from him in the desk chair.

Then the silence returned once again.

“Um, congratulations, again,” Guang-Hong said after a very painful few moments.

“Oh, thanks. Congratulations to you as well. You’re a brilliant skater, I was a disaster at your age,” Yuuri shook his head.

Guang Hong looked at Yuuri with skepticism.

“What?” Yuuri asked.

The teen furrowed his brow. He opened his mouth and then shut it again. Then finally he spoke.

“Can I speak openly?” he asked.

“Um, sure,” Yuuri shrugged. “Of course. My coach has reminded me that we’re probably friends,” he added as an afterthought. He was surprised when Guang Hong laughed.

“It’s just so strange,” he said after a moment, “How modest you are.”

“What?” Yuuri asked, surprised by the younger teens observation.

“I always looked up to you, a bit, you know. And this season, particularly spending the summer with Phichit in Detroit, you became in my mind how, well, how I imagine you must look up to a skater like Viktor Nikiforov.”

Yuuri shook his head, "Does Phichit still talk me up that much?" Yuuri asked and the teen nodded and shrugged with a sympathetic smile.

Yuuri couldn't help but roll his eyes.  _That boy._  

“Why are you telling me this?” Yuuri asked after another moment of reminiscing about Phichit's (over) supportiveness. 

“I don’t know. Phichit encouraged me to reach out to you while we were here together, mostly.” Yuuri clicked his tongue—of course he had. For a long time, very few social things in Yuuri’s life had happened without the involvement of the Thai skater.  “I never thought I’d be able to actually do it though, because you’re you,” Guang-Hong continued. “But then, I don’t know. You’re so modest. Too modest. And apparently easy to talk to?” he added with a smile.

“Oh,” was all Yuuri could say in response, still struggling to grasp the concept that the other skater had positioned Yuuri like a Viktor Nikiforov level figure skating idol—a position Yuuri knew he couldn’t possibly deserve. “Hey, um, do you want to watch some TV or something? I mean, they have to have something playing in English on one of the channels somewhere, right?” Yuuri said, picking up the remote.

“Okay, sure,” the teen nodded and Yuuri moved to go sit on the bed so he was facing the television, and Guang Hong turned in his chair and curled his feet under himself.

They flipped through the channels until they found a channel playing some old British film that was not dubbed, but instead had Russian subtitles. Neither he nor Guang-Hong had ever seen before and was already at least half way through, but they watched it anyway, in silence, even though the plot seemed incomprehensible.

“This is nice,” Guang Hong said after several minutes. “I usually stay in my room by myself during competitions.”

Yuuri nodded. “Until I went to America to train when I was eighteen and met Phichit, I never had any friends in figure skating.”

Yuuri had watched, of course, other skaters pal around, have their little friend groups and cliques—especially at the junior level. There had been a lot of drama at the junior level—a bunch of high strung tweens and teens under high pressure in a competitive environment made for a lot of drama that Yuuri had avoided like the plague. But he knew that all the other skaters none the less had their friends who they would stay up half the night wandering the hallways of the hotel goofing off or gossiping in each other’s rooms or whatever, but he was always alone.

Guang Hong nodded.

“I’m so much younger, there are only a couple other skaters near my age that qualified for the series at the senior level, and I always worry that I’ll be annoying to older skaters,” Guang Hong admitted, looking down at his hands.

“Hey, me too, and I’m nearly twenty-three now,” Yuuri said with a sympathetic smile.

“You really don’t need to worry about that, Katsuki,” Guang Hong said softly. “You’re basically revolutionizing figure skating this season—everyone admires you.”

“ _Revolutionizing_  is definitely too strong a word,” Yuuri defended immediately.

Guang-Hong shrugged.

“Until this year, besides Viktor, it was a very mediocre time in figure skating,” the teen offered and Yuuri considered this.

Skating was a constantly evolving sport, its athletes always pushing harder to score even higher. And the biggest evolution in figure skating in a while had been Viktor Nikiforov.

Viktor had made for a lot of firsts and records in figure skating. He was the first person to land a quad flip in competition, the first person to score above 100 points in the short program and 200 points in the free skate. He held basically every record for high scores in every context there was in men’s singles skating. And to Guang Hong’s point, Viktor kept blowing record after record out of the water, but other skaters were not remotely rising to match.

Most skaters scores seemed stagnate by comparison. Of course, after Viktor had broken the 100 and 200-point barriers, other skaters followed, but still hardly matched the kinds of scores Viktor could produce with his technical prowess and artistry. Skaters like Christophe Giacometti and Georgi Popovich would, every once in a while, launch up with a new personal best that was a bit more comparable to Viktor’s scores, but even still that was _only_ every once in a while—they were hardly consistent. And in the end, skaters are supposed to raise the bar, push harder, keep breaking records, set new precedence for excellence for the next generation of skaters. But no one was except Viktor. He had no competitor, and it’s been years now of his dominance.

“But then this year—well here you are, and everything is changing,” Guang Hong continued. “You know Georgi scored just a few points under a personal best he set at a world championship over _two years_ ago today? And rumor is that you’re on track to break records, or at the very least nearly tie Viktor’s. Last year I made it to the final and this year I’ll be lucky to rank in the top ten by the end of the series, none the less make it to the final again,” Guang-Hong sighed.

“You’re still so young,” Yuuri reassured. “And third place in a placement isn’t a death sentence, you still have a shot at the final. You made it to the Grand Prix final in your senior debut, which you made at fifteen. That’s amazing. The only other person I can think of off the top of my head that’s done that recently is Viktor,” Yuuri reassured, although he felt a bit more like he was defending his right to be thought of as mediocre despite growing evidence otherwise.

“Yes, that’s the point, though, isn’t it?” Guang Hong laughed softly. “Last year I was called a prodigy and a rising star in figure skating. I had visions of playing myself in a movie about my life,” he grinned, then his tone shifted a bit into something almost playful as he admitted an open secret. “That was the plan, you know. I practically died when Phichit invited me to America to train with him and Leo this summer. Apparently though Detroit and Los Angeles are very far apart.” Yuuri laughed at that.

China was at least very large, so he imagined Guang Hong had a rough frame of reference for the size of the US. Yuuri remembered going from living in Japan to America and having a bit of culture shock when he realized you couldn’t just take a couple high-speed trains from one end of the country to another in a single day of traveling—his parents none the less always telling him they had friends who had family in Oregon or New York he should go visit like it just was that easy.

“And there were other factors, of course, that made it so I could make it to the final last year—” Guang-Hong continued more seriously. “A couple other older skaters who could have easily made it into the final over me skipped the Grand Prix series because of injury. Neither Leo nor I should have made it realistically.”

“I shouldn’t have made it either then, by that logic.”

Guang-Hong seemed to consider this.

“Perhaps. But things are different now. Now I’ll have to wait another year or two—climb my way back up the ranks like I always should have had too. But you belong here.”

Yuuri didn’t know what to say, so instead he deflected.

“You’re a far wiser teenager than my rink mate, although apparently in the end you talk nearly as much—is that a teenager thing? Did I talk this much at fifteen? But do you think you could give Minami some lessons if you ever run into him in competition?”

“I’m usually more soft-spoken,” Guang-Hong murmured. “Maybe you just bring out the best in people,” Guang Hong’s lips curled into a small smirk.

“Oh, be quiet,” Yuuri murmured, but found himself smiling back. “You’ve spent too much time with Phichit. That boy is so annoying in his righteousness.”

They both laughed.

 

* * *

 

The movie ended and Yuuri and Guang Hong had decided to video call Phichit, who had been absolutely thrilled his two friends were spending time together. Eventually though it grew later, and Yuuri’s ability to socialize began to wane, so they’d hung up with Phichit and Guang Hong said goodnight and returned to his room.

Yuuri checked his phone and found a text from Kanako about their flight tomorrow, confirming what time they'd need to check out of the hotel.

 _Oh, um, I’m going to stay in Russia for a little longer. Working on rebooking my flight right now,_ Yuuri texted back.

A second later his phone was ringing.

“Since when do you just throw away the cost of an international plane ticket?” Kanako’s voice came down the line.

“Um, well, I haven’t touched my savings much in a long time, living at home for a while and dropping out of half a season of skating. And I’m hoping that this season will go well enough I might actually be pretty financially stable for once—maybe even make a little money instead of just barely breaking even,” Yuuri muttered.  _And I’ve developed a problem, maybe even an addiction, to a certain platinum haired Russian skater who is worth making bad decisions over._

“How long were you planning on staying?”

“Just a week,” Yuuri murmured, suddenly realizing that going to St. Petersburg to chase after Viktor was probably a monumentally stupid and irresponsible and reckless decision.

“Do you have some place to stay?”

_…No._

“I’ll work something out.”

“Yuuri—”

“Could you, just, not talk me out of this?”  _Because it would probably be pretty easy to do_. “I feel like I have to do this,” Yuuri said, realizing he already sounded pathetically defeated.

There was silence on the other end.

“Okay,” Kanako said. “Fine. But I’m not explaining to Kenjirou why you ditched him, again, for a certain Russian champion.”

Yuuri gasped. “What? I’m not—”

But, of course, he was.

“And if you break anything while learning that quad, I’m suing the Russian Federation and petitioning the ISU to make an exception to their age requirements, just so I can send you back to the Junior level.”

“I—What?”

Last week he’d mentioned to her, and his therapist, the idea of revisiting the quad salchow soon if he worked on it only under direct supervision, and they’d all agreed he’d been doing well enough that they could perhaps reconsider it soon.

In an ask-for-forgiveness-instead-of-permission type decision, which was unusual for Yuuri, he was of course deciding to make soon a bit sooner than he'd let on.

But he didn’t know Kanako would be able to connect all the dots though so quickly, although he supposed he should know by now how good she was at that.

“Tell Viktor I said hello, and I expect to see you at the rink at 8:00 sharp exactly one week from now,” was all she said before the line went silent.

Yuuri collapsed back on to his bed, feeling defeated. But after only a few minutes, an antsy feeling began to build up again in his stomach, and Yuuri knew he hadn't changed his mind. He opened up his laptop and opened back up to the Russian trains website and searched for the earliest ticket he could get direct to St. Petersburg.

 

* * *

 

After a four-hour train ride the next morning, Yuuri found himself standing at the train station in St. Petersburg—once again suffering a moment of realization that this was definitely a terrible idea.

He clutched his phone in his hand, staring at the screen where Viktor’s contact listing was displayed.

_What if he doesn’t answer? What if he’s too busy to see you at all? What if he’s actually not even in St. Petersburg?_

_Well then, you’ll go find a hostel or something and you’ll spend a week sightseeing or lingering in coffee shops until your flight back to Japan. Would that be such a terrible thing?_ he tried to reassure himself.  _It’s not like if Viktor doesn’t answer and the immediate and only alternative is you’re kidnapped by human traffickers or are left to die of hypothermia in a ditch._

Yuuri quickly, before he could talk himself out of it again, tapped the call button.

The call was picked up quickly.

“Yuuri?” Viktor responded immediately, and for a second Yuuri felt relieved. “What’s going on? You never call me,” the man said bluntly, and the panic returned. Right. Yuuri didn’t call Viktor often because they were probably barely even friends. What was he doing here?

“Yuuri? Are you alright?”

“I shouldn’t have called, I’m sorry,” Yuuri said, feeling panicky again.

“No, wait! I’m excited you called! I was just worried, when I saw it was you. I was worried something might have happened.”

 _Something had happened_ , Yuuri thought. Yuuri had travelled to Viktor’s home city by himself and was now standing in a train station in a city he’d never been to before, in a country he’d not exactly spent a ton of time in. But Yuuri realized he had no idea how to tell Viktor that, even though it was the fundamental reason he was calling. Thankfully Yuuri had travelled enough for skating that this wasn’t the kind of thing that threw him into a serious state of panic even before considering Viktor, but he still wasn’t exactly feeling calm as he tried to find the words to explain to Viktor.

“Oh. Okay,” Yuuri said, and then paused awkwardly. “So what are you up to this morning?”

“I’m taking a lunch break right now, Yakov is due back soon though, and will surely determine that I need to be whipped back into shape after my two days off the ice,” he chuckled.

“Oh. Right,” Yuuri murmured, becoming distracted for a moment as a child nearby started crying.

“I’m having a hard time hearing you, Yuuri. Are you at the airport? It sounds like there is a lot of commotion around you.”

“No, I’m not at an airport—it’s a—a train station.”

“Why are you taking a train? Could you not get a flight out of Moscow? Or are you back in Japan already?”

“No, I, er, I had a flight out of Moscow. I changed it.”

“Why—” Viktor began, but then he paused, and silence fell over the line.

Yuuri worried for a second his heart might stop.

“Where are you?”

“The Moscow Railway station,” Yuuri said, and then added the too telling addendum, “In St. Petersburg.”

And then there was another crushing silence.

“I’ll come pick you up. I’ll be there in less than twenty minutes.”

“Oh,” Yuuri breathed. “Oh, alright. Thank you.”

“I have to hang up now,” Viktor said. “Just—less than twenty minutes.”

Yuuri only nodded, forgetting that Viktor couldn’t see him, as the line went dead.

 

* * *

 

After the slowest five minutes of his life, Yuuri decided to go stand out in front of the station to make it easier for Viktor to see him. He’d been trying to get himself to wait inside, where it was warm, until Viktor called him back. But he felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin if he didn’t do something—like if he couldn’t see Viktor the moment he arrived, he might not come at all or might change his mind if he got there and didn’t immediately see Yuuri waiting.

Yuuri had realized that if he’d been a normal person, he probably should have used the toilet, maybe bought himself a cup of tea, and sat down to wait leisurely, checking to see if there was free Wi-Fi to scroll through social media.

But Yuuri didn’t ever seem to be a normal person—and he wasn’t sure normal people ever came to surprise people in foreign countries after only barely knowing them, anyway. So Yuuri found himself standing outside the station, checking his phone constantly to see how much time had passed, his teeth beginning to chatter in Russia's mid-autumn chill.

After exactly seventeen minutes from when Viktor had hung up the phone (Yuuri had been keeping track), a shiny black car rolled up in front of where Yuuri had been loitering on the sidewalk, and the window rolled down to reveal Viktor. Yuuri was surprised to find Viktor driving. He supposed it wasn’t a ridiculous notion, but Yuuri himself couldn’t drive—never having had the time to learn between his training (and also terrified at the idea of being in control of a literal potential death machine)—and he hadn’t considered that Viktor might be able to.

For a few seconds, they just stared at each other, neither one seeming to be able to believe the other was really there—then Yuuri’s teeth began to chatter again, and he hunched up his shoulders even more to brace himself against the cold.

Viktor muttered what Yuuri presumed was a Russian curse.

“You’re freezing! Hurry and get in!”

Yuuri quickly walked around the car to throw his luggage into the back before getting into the passenger seat.

Once Yuuri had put on his seatbelt, Viktor pulled away from the station.

“Do you have a hotel you need to check into?” Viktor asked.

“Um, no,” Yuuri murmured, embarrassed. “I was probably going to ask if you could recommend maybe a hostel or something.”

“A hostel!” Viktor gasped, like Yuuri had suggested that he’d asked Viktor to recommend a nice park bench to sleep on. “No, there is a nice hotel I recommend to visitors in the neighborhood I live in. I’ll take you there.”

“I—I don’t know if I can afford a hotel,”  _and certainly not a nice one_. “I already spent too much getting here,” Yuuri murmured, embarrassed.

“I’ll pay then, it’s no problem,” Viktor said matter-of-factly and without hesitation.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“It would be no problem, really.”

“No—I couldn’t. Really. A hostel will be fine.”

A hostel in fact would not be exactly  _fine_ , Yuuri hated them, but he’d endure. He’d stayed in a couple—Phichit had dragged him along on a very brief European backpacking tour last year after a competition in France and Yuuri quickly found he hated hostels. He hated the lack of privacy. He hated all the outgoing people that tended to stay in them and how he never fit in. He hated bunk beds. He hated sharing a single bathroom with an entire floor of strangers.  

But hostels were cheap and would offset the money he’d spent buying a train ticket and a new plane ticket.

Viktor seemed very displeased, but said nothing for a moment, until a smile spread over his face.

“You will stay with me then!” he announced. “I have a guest room,” he added.

“What—no!” Yuuri gasped, feeling scandalized at the suggestion—guest room or not.

“You object to me spending money to put you up somewhere decent, I object to you sharing a room with a dozen strangers. It is, I believe, a good compromise,” Viktor said resolutely.

“I’d be putting you out,” Yuuri muttered.

“You, Yuuri? Never. And I stayed with your family when I came to Japan.”

“It was only a night. And we own a resort.”

“Yes, but you failed to bill me.”

“You came all the way to Japan for me, how could I bill you?”

“And you’ve come all the way to St. Petersburg for me.”

He had.

“I—okay. Fine. Thank you. I appreciate it. But I could pay you still—to rent the room.”

Viktor turned to shoot Yuuri a look that Yuuri knew to mean  _I am insulted you’d even suggest such a thing._

Yuuri sighed and looked down at his lap.

“But, perhaps, if you really want to do something to pay me back, you could make me dinner. If you’d like,” Viktor offered.

Yuuri snapped his head up to look over at the other man.

“Oh! Yes, I could definitely! I’ll cook dinner every night this week! And I can make you bento for lunch if you want as well!”

Viktor chuckled.

“So you’re staying the week, then?” Viktor asked, and Yuuri felt his cheeks warm. He’d not mentioned that, had he? Was that overstaying his welcome?

“Er, yes. Is that alright?”

“It’s perfect, Yuuri. Absolutely wonderful,” he said, smiling over at Yuuri.

Yuuri found that the blush to his cheeks only increased, and he quickly looked away, turning instead to watch the city pass out the car window.

A few minutes later Viktor turned into a parking garage and pulled the car into the first vacant spot.

“Um, Viktor, where are we?” Yuuri asked.

“Do you think I have come here to murder you and dump the body?” Viktor asked, clearly finding amusement Yuuri’s nervousness.

“No, of course—I just—” but before he could finish Viktor cut him off.

“We’re at my rink. I figured if you’re staying with me there is no rush to drop off your belongings. If we only have a week to get you your last quad, we better get started.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said, gaping a bit.

“You have your skates, yes?”

Yuuri nodded.

“Alright, well then grab them and we’ll get going!”

Yuuri could only follow the Russian champions instructions.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Yuuri noticed about Viktor’s home rink was a young blond boy who immediately started yelling at Viktor in Russian the second he spotted the man approaching the ice.

“Shh, Yuri, watch your language. This is Yuuri Katsuki, from Japan, do you not recognize him?” Viktor chided in English, smiling at the boy who reminded Yuuri of a spitting cat.

“Yuuri, this is Yuri Plisetsky, he’s just begun training here under Yakov last year, and won the Junior world championships last spring.”

Yuri continued to yell at Viktor in Russian.

“Yuuri might be better able to address your concerns if you spoke so that he could understand,” Viktor chided again with a smile, seeming to have infinite patience for the fiery young teen.

“There are already enough people fighting for rink time and you bring along this embarrassment?” Yuri finally yelled in English, pointing at Yuuri accusingly.

Yuuri let out a small gasp and looked down, glancing at Viktor out of the corner of his eye. Viktor saw Yuuri fold in on himself and frowned.

“I thought you might actually be helpful, Yuri, since Yuuri is here to work on his quad salchow, the very jump that I believe that Yakov has banned you from doing again until you reach the senior level.”

“He has a quad?” Yuuri gasped. The kid was what—just barely thirteen? Maybe fourteen?

“I landed it in competition last year,” Yuri boasted.

“And perhaps, if you’re on your best behavior, I could convince Yakov to let you help me train Yuuri.”

Suddenly Yuri grinned.

“Does Yakov know you’ve brought him?”

Viktor scowled.

“No, but I don’t see how that matters.”

“He’ll bar that piggy from the rink and assign you 5:00 practices for the next month!” Yuri smirked.

Piggy? Had Yuuri gained weight? He thought he'd been keeping it off.

“Yakov may feign anger, but he has more sense than that.”

Yuuri had at this point gone to sat down on a nearby bench and do breathing exercises, currently going unnoticed by the two Russians as they fought, the younger Yuri slipping back into Russian and Viktor eventually following suit.

Then from across the rink, a voice barked out and all three skaters turned to see Yakov entering the rink.

There was a lot more arguing in Russian, and some gesturing at Yuuri that he tried to ignore, and then, finally, after what seemed like ages, it grew quiet.

Yuuri, who had been looking firmly at his shoes, noticed someone standing before him and looked up the see Viktor.

“Are you ready to skate?” he asked.

“Yakov is letting me use his rink?”

“Yes, of course,” Viktor said, as if they hadn’t just spent the past fifteen minutes arguing about Yuuri’s presence.

“I’m sorry I got you in trouble,” Yuuri said, looking back down at his shoes. “I shouldn’t have come.”

Suddenly Viktor was kneeling down before him and looking earnestly in Yuuri’s eyes, “You didn’t get me into any more trouble than I would have been in no matter what,” Viktor said gently. “And I’m so glad you came. Here,” he said, grabbing the bag with Yuuri’s skates and taking them out. He then reached out to put a hand over Yuuri’s shoe. “Can I?” he asked.

“What?” Yuuri asked. “You want to put on my skates?”

“Can I?” Viktor repeated, and Yuuri reluctantly nodded.

Viktor carefully untied the laces of Yuuri’s shoes and slid them off, delicately holding the back of Yuuri’s heels as he moved to slip Yuuri’s feet into his skates.

“This isn’t your way of telling me you have some kind of foot fetish, is it?” Yuuri said without thinking and then immediately slapped his hand over his mouth.

Viktor looked up at Yuuri for a moment and gaped at him, before breaking into a hearty laugh.

“Oh, Yuuri, you always surprise me,” he said with a large grin. “No, I’ve never found anything exceptionally alluring about feet. Although, if they are a part of you, I might reconsider.”

Yuuri could only gasp.

Before he could say anything, Yuuri noticed Yuri reappear out of the corner of his eye, carrying what appeared to be a large pole in his hands.

“What is that?” Yuuri asked, although he already knew what it was. “What is he carrying?”

Viktor smile grew.

“I asked little Yuri to bring me a tool to help you learn the quad more quickly and safely.”

“A harness?” Yuuri gasped, eyeing the contraption in horror.

“Of course! Surely you’ve used one before?”

“Yes, but not since juniors!”

“Well no wonder it’s taking you so long to learn your quads,” Viktor said matter-of-factly.

“You really want to string me up like some kind of fish on a line?” Yuuri squawked.

“Really, Yuuri, what do you have against a harness?”

“I’m nearly twenty-three!”

“And? If you’re worried about your size, we have a rig we can set up in over the rink as well, but I figured we could start with this one. I believe you should have enough progress on it that I should be able to support you myself,” Viktor said, gesturing to the long rod with the harness dangling off it that Yuri was holding. The junior champion was smirking a little too cruelly and triumphantly for Yuuri’s taste.

“I just,” Yuuri muttered weakly. “I shouldn't need to be practicing jumps with a harness, I should be better than this.”

“Yuuri, if you get your salchow, you’ll be joining a pretty elite club of figure skaters who can land all their quads in competition. In fact, right now it’s hardly a much of a club at all, since I’m the only member at the moment.”

The comment was sobering to Yuuri and twenty minutes later, after a brief warm up, Yuuri found himself strapped into the harness, Viktor skating along besides him, preparing to attempt the quad for the first time in months.

And Yuuri landed it with only a slight wobble, the harness giving him a bit extra air to make the rotations and keeping him from falling down more dramatically.

“What the fuck is he doing here, then?” Yuri yelled from across the ice where he was watching.

“Yuuri already nearly has the jump down, we’re just building confidence and familiarity,” Viktor explained. “Let’s go again, Yuuri,” he said, as together they again began to pick up speed and curl around the ice until Yuuri jumped again. He landed it about the same.

Viktor must have made him jump about a dozen more times, while Yuri filmed them on Yuuri’s phone, so they could review his technique later.

On about the fifteenth try, Yuuri wiped out more than the harness and Viktor could account for, and both of them ended up splayed out on the ice.

Yuuri pushed himself up, feeling embarrassed, when he noticed Viktor sprawled out on the ice, looking far less graceful than he’d seen the skater possibly ever look. In fact, Yuuri couldn't even remember seeing the champion fall, and yet here Yuuri was dragging Viktor literally down to his level.

Yuuri couldn’t help himself. He started laughing.

“Oh, is this funny to you?” Viktor asked, feebly lifting his head, but Yuuri knew the anger was feigned.

Yuuri tried to slide across the ice on his knees over to Viktor, but the skates were too clunky on his feet and he fell again, collapsing into Viktor.

Viktor caught Yuuri in his arms as he fell back onto the ice, and Yuuri found himself laying sprawled out on the ice besides Viktor, wrapped in his arms.

He smiled timidly, and Viktor unraveled a hand to reach out and brush back Yuuri’s hair out of his eyes.

The look in the other man’s eyes was so fond, it nearly made Yuuri’s heart explode.

“What are you two idiots doing?” Yuri yelled, and he and Viktor looked up to see that the young skater was holding Yuuri’s phone over them, presumably still filming, and scowling.

“Perhaps now would be a good time for a break,” Viktor said, slowly untangling himself from Yuuri and pushing up from the ice.

“What the fuck, we’ve only been at this for like an hour and you already need a break? No wonder you’re such a useless skater Katsuki!” Yuri barked.

Yuuri followed Viktor up from the ice and smiled at the other Yuri, shaking his head and chuckling. He found that this time the angry teen’s insults didn’t hurt so much.

And the look he caught on the other Yuri’s face when the teen realized that Yuuri was laughing at him instead of on the verge of tears was priceless.

“Idiots!” he yelled, all but chucking Yuuri’s phone at him and storming off the ice.

Yuuri and Viktor looked at each other, and Yuuri rolled his eyes.

Instantly, they started laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I almost didn't write this so quickly, but I wanted to get something finished to celebrate, because it is just about exactly one month since I've started working on this!!! Thanks to everyone whose read and commented and bookmarked and left kudos on this fic. And again, I'd like to extend a formal invitation for anyone, particularly if you've made it this far, to leave a comment because ~~I am lonely~~ I love to hear what you think!


	10. St. Petersburg, Russia - November 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri didn’t know what had gotten into him, but he felt...happy.

Viktor’s apartment was nice—a display of how profitable being an athlete can be if you’re really, really, really, good at it.

Yuuri was only really good at skating, though, if that, and his attempts of making it into a career were a bit more floundering. He’d never seen in person how the top 0.1% of figure skaters, like Viktor, lived.

Clearly though it was very comfortably.

Yuuri's previous sponsorships and eventual assistance from the Japanese Skating Federation had been enough to keep him skating, but they hadn’t exactly allowed him a life of luxury. He’d very rarely won any prizes for skating, as well, after all, and his sponsorship deals did not include glamorous high profit international ad campaigns and exhibitions like some of Viktor’s did. Viktor had merchandise for goodness sake.

Yuuri’s first and only "sponsor" for most of his competitive skating career had been his parents.

And it had taken about five years into his competitive skating career before his parents stopped supporting him. He’d felt terrible about that—most of Yuuri’s skating career was funded by a few good summer seasons at the hot springs and a fairly modest but still substantial enough inheritance that Yuuri’s mother had received following the death of her father a couple years before Yuuri began skating competitively.

Yuuri’s parents had tried to make it seem like their support of him was like a real sponsorship—like Yuuri’s success and theoretical notoriety brought business to the hot spring.

(It did not.)

Children were supposed to send money back to their parents when they started their careers, not the other way around. Even when Yuuri moved to America and started in the senior level and began to really finally make the tiniest bit of money, the meager amounts he sent back to his family were more a token of thanks and respect, rather than any sort of substantial income.

He’d love to send enough money back one day so that maybe his parents could afford to hire some more staff to help out around the resort, or maybe do some larger renovations. But Yuuri had yet to make enough money to do such a thing, none the less consider buying _himself_  nicer things.

_Maybe next year._

But Viktor, with his nice shiny modern apartment, and his nice shiny car, and all his nice well-tailored clothes, seemed to be doing just fine.

Yuuri had only had a few moments after stepping into the apartment though to consider the differences between his and Vikor’s lifestyles before there was the unmistakable sounds of a dog approaching—jingling collar and the scrabble of feet on the hardwood floor drawing louder as a light brown poodle came into sight.

“Makka!” Viktor called as the dog immediately noticed the newcomer in her home and began to spin in circles around Yuuri, sniffing him all over. “Calm down!”

Yuuri squat down and held out his hand to the poodle for her to sniff before reaching out to scratch behind her ears.

“You’d think she was still a puppy instead of being over ten years old,” Viktor laughed.

“You met Vicchan, he’s the same way,” Yuuri smiled and stood up again, much to Makkachin’s displeasure. She followed Yuuri’s hand with her head, rubbing her ears against it until Yuuri’s fingers started scratching again.

“I bet they would be great friends!” Viktor gasped.

Yuuri smiled politely. Yuuri being here, in Viktor’s home, was already too much, Yuuri couldn’t fathom a reality in which Vicchan and Makkachin met. International travel with pets was a real headache, and often very distressing for the animal. Vicchan and Makkachin could not just casually meet, it would have to be the result of some kind of great commitment.

And that’s exactly as far as Yuuri could take that thought.

“So the guest room is down the hall, second door on your left. The first one is the bathroom. And the door on the right is my room, in case you wanted to know,” he added with a wink.

Yuuri looked away.

“We should probably order in tonight. I haven’t been food shopping in ages. All I probably have here are some special ordered frozen meals that Yakov insists I keep around because they’re nutritious,” Viktor said as he scrunched up his nose in disgust.

“No! I said I’d make you dinner,” Yuuri protested quickly, remembering the vow he’d made earlier. “Can I look around? You probably have something.”

Viktor shrugged.

“If you insist, let me know when you’ve given up though and I’ll order delivery.”

Yuuri opened the fridge to find that Viktor hadn’t been exaggerating too much when he said he had nothing. There was a carton of eggs with only two left, a little more than a shake of slightly questionable milk, a carton of some slightly depressed looking but fairly viable berries, and a bag a very wilted and much less salvageable spinach that was stuck in the back of the crisper drawer.

The freezer contained only the prophesized frozen meals.

Yuuri then turned to the cabinets, hoping to find something more promising.

“If you can’t find anything, don’t worry about it Yuuri,” Viktor called over from the couch. He’d collapsed down on the sofa and was now scrolling through his phone with Makkachin curled up at his feet.

“Do you doubt me?” Yuuri challenged, beginning to haphazardly take things out of the cabinets.

Viktor turned to look at him over the back of the couch, looking scandalized.

“I would never!” he gasped dramatically. Yuuri rolled his eyes.

“Then shut up and let me cook.”

Viktor blinked at Yuuri a few times, looking a bit stunned, before he shrugged and turned back to his phone and Yuuri set to work.

Viktor's kitchen was at least fairly well stocked besides the general lack of food. Yuuri ogled the expensive looking blender and a very nice stand mixer that was just collecting dust.

“Are you making dessert?” Viktor called again from the other room about ten minutes later, once Yuuri had begun to cook and the warm, sweet smell of sugar began to fill the apartment.

“Your labels are too restricting for my culinary identity,” Yuuri quipped. “I thought I’d told you to be quiet and wait for your dinner?”

Yuuri didn’t know what had gotten into him, but he felt...happy. He knew a part of him existed that could be… sassy. Phichit worshiped that part of Yuuri and wouldn’t let him forget it existed. But Yuuri tried to suppress that side of himself as much as possible, or it at the very least suppressed itself. It was hard to be sassy when you could barely get yourself to speak, none the less get the right words to come out in the right order.

But being here with Viktor felt so easy and right. He felt light and content. It felt so cliché to say, but Yuuri found that he could so easily be himself around Viktor. And even more shockingly, Viktor for some reason seemed to keep coming back for more.

The day had been so great, Yuuri felt any hesitancy he had towards opening up to Viktor melting away. He’d skated with Viktor for hours, and the man, through the stupid harness, had literally supported him on the ice. The experience had ended up feeling surprisingly intimate, once Yuuri had gotten over the realistically unfounded embarrassment.

Viktor was probably right, after all, when he surmised it was very likely Yuuri’s lack of harness use the past several years that effected his ability to learn quads. Yuuri had spent a lot of the last five years being so stubborn about how good he should have already been, he brushed aside a lot of the work he should have been doing to actually get there.

“Do you have any preferences as to where we eat?” Yuuri asked, as he put the finishing touches on their dinner.

“I usually eat on the sofa, honestly,” Viktor admitted. “But for you I’d eat at the table.”

“No, no, the couch would be perfect,” Yuuri said as he’d picked up the plates and carried them over the sofa. Viktor sat up as Yuuri approached and took the plate when Yuuri offered it. Yuuri kept his own plate and sat down besides Viktor, Makkachin still taking up most of the rest of the couch.

He looked back to Viktor to see him staring at his plate with a look of great curiosity.

“Are these like American style pancakes?”

Yuuri nodded.

“What’s in them?” he asked, pointing at one of the many brown specs that freckled the pancakes.

“Chocolate.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? Does chocolate require a why?”

“No, I mean, why did you make pancakes?”

Yuuri shrugged.

“You had the ingredients,” Yuuri said matter-of-factly.

Viktor continued to stare at him like that was hardly the answer he’d been looking for.  _Of course_  Viktor wanted to psychoanalyze Yuuri's recipe choices. He quickly sighed and gave in.

“And I thought it would be fun. Phichit had an American friend who’d come over to our apartment sometimes, occasionally when we’d drink she’d sleep on our couch. And one morning Phichit and I woke up and she’d made us a mountain of these little pancakes. She said that her family always made them small. And we ate them with chocolate chips and strawberries and whipped cream, and it was just a lot of fun. It became a tradition for us, after nights out or to celebrate any and all occasions. And I don’t know, I thought it would be fun…” Yuuri trailed off and watched as Viktor studied him.

“You didn’t bring me a fork,” Viktor said after a moment.

“That’s the fun. You pick them up, and you stuff the berries inside, and fold them over,”

“Like making pirozhki?” Viktor interrupted.

“Like tacos,” Yuuri amended as he demonstrated, shoving one of the pancakes in his mouth, a berry falling out the other end and plopping down onto the plate he balanced in his lap as he bit into it. “It’s more fun with whipped cream, but you didn’t have any.”

“I can think of a lot of things that are more fun with whipped cream,” Viktor quipped as he carefully began to pick up one of his pancakes. Yuuri nearly choked and Viktor took a bite, acting like he’d not said anything at all.

Then his eyes lit up.

“You made this out of the molding leftovers in my kitchen?” he asked, his mouth still full of partially chewed food.

Yuuri nodded.

“How?”

Yuuri shrugged.

“I grew up in the kitchen with my parents. And then I went away to train in the US and I had to feed myself on a fairly limited budget, and I got pretty good at turning practically nothing into a whole meal.”

“Wow, amazing. I thought university students lived off of take-out and instant noodles.”

“Not unless I wanted to become the first ice skating whale,” Yuuri laughed.

“Hey, whales are very good at jumping,” Viktor argued.

Yuuri took another bite.

“I don’t think that’s the technical term, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Are you trying to tell me in English there is a specific word for whales jumping?”

“I don’t know, I think so though,” Yuuri thought for a second. “ _Breaching_ , I think it is. There probably is a word in Russian and Japanese too, but I'd have to look it up.”

Viktor shook his head.

“It is good that I am a skater, I don’t have to remember so many words. Your English is better than mine.”

Now it was Yuuri's turn to shake his head.

“No, instead you have to learn multiple languages to survive in international competition and remember the last name of every person who ever came up with a type of figure skating element,” Yuuri said and smiled at the other man.

“Yes, well, whatever. Mostly I can just smile and wave.”

Yuuri laughed.

“You are very good at that.”

“You think I’m good at smiling and waving?”

“I think anyone with your face would be.”

“Oh, what about my face?”

 _Shit_.

“Erm, nothing. I mean. It’s a nice face. People like nice faces. You can be really mediocre with a nice face.”

“So, you are saying I’m mediocre?”

Yuuri realized only then that Viktor was just teasing him.

“Oh, shut up. You know you’re not.”

“But do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Know how amazing you are?”

Yuuri was choking on his pancakes again.

“You did not—what?” Yuuri sputtered, coughing. “No. Just be quiet.”

Yuuri poked around at his pancakes and ignored Viktor’s smug grin.

 

* * *

 

The next few days went by quickly and blissfully. They shouldn’t have, Viktor turned out to be a fairly grueling coach. He dragged Yuuri up before sunrise in the morning to go for runs across St. Petersburg and back again. He took him to a gym and seemed to take great pleasure in spotting Yuuri as he demanded rep after rep and set after set of weight training. They skated for hours, practicing the salchow, but also running each other’s programs.

Viktor seemed reluctant to take the focus off Yuuri and do some of his own training, but on the third day Viktor and Yakov had another argument, Viktor agreed to practice his own programs.

It didn’t turn out to be much practice, though, since instead Viktor skated both his programs full out and impressively—although nowhere near as cleanly as Yuuri had seen him do them in competition. His free skate was particularly struggling, as he only took a few minutes of rest between his short program and his free skate—just enough time to sit down, catch his breath, and chug a bottle of water before getting back out on the ice.

He then sent Yakov a smug grin and sent Yuuri back out on the ice to run his own short program. Yakov was there in an instant, very clearly berating and critiquing his skater.

Viktor listened to the man rant with his trademark grin never leaving his face. When Yakov finally ran out of steam, Viktor said something that was clearly dismissive and walked back over to where Yuuri had been sitting on a bench. He collapsed down beside him.

“You really should take the time you need to do your own training,” Yuuri murmured.

“I’d much rather work with you,” Viktor responded.

“I’d much rather not be blamed as the reason you get your first silver medal in five years.”

“The only reason I would ever get silver, Yuuri, is if you took gold,” Viktor said casually, and for a second Yuuri was shaken by the words that had come out of the other man’s mouth.

 _Beat Viktor_  had of course always been the ultimate goal. But Yuuri had always thought it was like a best kept secret. It was a pipe dream that no one else would even think was possible. And yet, here Viktor was, talking as if if there was any one in the world who could dethrone him, it would be Yuuri.

But Yuuri quickly recovered. He was getting better at that very quickly—being able to recover from the outrageous things Viktor would say casually, seemingly just because he liked to watch the look of surprise on people’s faces.

“Oh, sure, that’s even better. I win gold and the media goes wild about how I sabotaged you by detracting from your own training.”

“I would never let them! Viktor proclaimed.

“Oh, is that one of your super powers—controlling the media?”

Viktor looked struck by this. In an instant his mind seemed to go somewhere else.

“We can certainly try,” he murmured.

Yuuri’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t know what is wrong with you two, but it is my turn for solo ice time in twenty minutes and if you think I’m going to let you have extra time because you rather stare at each other instead of practice, you are mistaken!” Yuri shouted at them from across the rink

“We could practice together, you know.” Yuuri offered.

“Yes, alright,” Viktor agreed, and they both took to the ice to rehearse some of their elements, until exactly twenty minutes later when Yuri kicked them off the ice.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, you are finally letting the piggy off of his leash?” Yuri barked.

Two more days had passed, and Viktor and Yuuri had gotten into a nice groove. They trained equally, and they trained hard. They’d return to Viktor’s apartment at the end of the day, and Yuuri would throw something together for dinner—although after a run to the market near Viktor’s apartment he had stuck to more balanced meals like stir-fries and salads instead of pancakes. Then they'd collapse into their beds and be up at the crack of dawn to start all over again.

And for some reason, the younger Yuri seemed to be there a lot, which seemed a little odd, since he was constantly proclaiming his irritation with Yuuri and Viktor. It was helpful to have him there filming, of course. But Yuuri would have imagined the younger Yuri would have abandoned them to return to his regular training schedule. Yuuri had only seen Viktor’s other rink mates in passing, Georgi and Mila seeming to have strict and very full schedules to stick to, but the junior champion was constantly around.

Viktor had explained over dinner one night when Yuuri asked him about the boy’s presence—that despite Yuri’s love of yelling, he was actually probably freaking out at a chance to train with two of the top skaters in the senior division.

Yuuri had tried to point out that, even after his gold at the Rostelecom cup, he was still hardly well ranked.

Viktor only gave him a look.

It was a look that said,  _you know the way the skating community is talking about you right now, as much as you try to ignore it._

A look that said,  _to young skater’s like Yuri, you’re quickly becoming as much of an idol as I am._

But, of course, what Viktor actually said was much worse and more outrageous.

“Little Yura is by nature a very jealous and driven skater. He wants what I want and wants to have what I have. He probably does not even realize that’s why he’s vying for your attention.”

Yuuri sputtered, his mind instantly pulling the message out from between the excess words.

_Viktor wants me._

And Yuuri in that moment knew he would forever be fond of the younger skater, simply for inadvertently causing Viktor to admit such a thing out loud and giving it to Yuuri to cling too tightly to.

“Yes, I believe Yuuri should begin to try to work on his quad sow unassisted. I think that he is ready,” Viktor answered Yuri’s taunts.

“I thought it was common knowledge that piggies do not fly,” Yuri retorted sharply.

“Oh, Yuuri gets some of the best height in figure skating, second only to me,” Viktor teased and Yuuri tried not to blush. That was hardly true. “It is just the landing we’ve been working on.”

“Whatever, I’ll enjoy watching the piggy crash.”

“Why do you call me that?” Yuuri suddenly asked the young skater about the nickname that the teenager had used repeatedly over the past few days. He’d come to tolerate it easily, and he kept his tone light as he asked, mostly curious.

He had put on some weight recently, but it was mostly just regaining back the weight he’d lost during his dark period. His cheeks had filled out again, and he’d been working with a trainer to build up some muscle to make up for the little amount of mass he’d begun losing from his lack of diverse muscle training for six months. He was in pretty excellent shape.

He didn’t essentially mind, inherently, the idea of being a bit more… full figured, of course, but it wasn’t conducive to skating at the level Yuuri skated at. Yuuri had always known though that once he retired, he’d probably get a bit… huskier, and he was ready to embrace that version of himself when that day one day came.

“What?” Yuri asked, possibly playing dumb, or possibly just not used to being questioned.

“Piggy,” Yuuri said bluntly.

The younger skater seemed taken aback.

“Because that is what your last name means, isn’t it,  _pork_?”

“What?”

“When Viktor came back from Japan, all he talked about was the pork Katsu-whatever that he’d had while he was there. And you’re Katsuki. Same thing, yes?”

Yuuri couldn’t help himself. He laughed, hard, doubling over as he clutched his stomach. It probably wasn’t even that funny, but it was ridiculous, the young skater’s error in translation. And here Yuuri had just thought the young skater had been making fun of his soft features.

“What?" Yuri asked, sounding furious yet again. "Viktor, what is wrong with him?” 

Yuuri tried to calm himself down.

“Sorry, it’s just funny.”

“What is?” Yuri practically shouted.

“It’s actually kind of an old joke in Japan, that play on words. Katsudon is supposed to be a lucky dish, because, well,  _katsu_  does denote pork in  _katsudon_ , but, I don't know how to explain it well. But  _katsu_  though actually means something more like  _born to win_.” Yuuri explained.

The look on Yuri’s face was priceless. Viktor snapped a picture out of nowhere and the teen quickly wiped the look of his face.

“Whatever,” he muttered. “I am still going to call you a piggy.”

Yuuri only shrugged.

“I don’t know, it does sound like a compliment, does it not? Yuuri should choose to think you’re calling him a winner,” Viktor quipped. "My lucky little piggy," he crooned at Yuuri and Yuuri could only gape.

The other Yuri let out and aggravated groan and stormed off.

“I bet he’ll be back within fifteen minutes to insult my attempts at the sow,” Yuuri said to Viktor with a grin.

“Oh, really? I’ll give him five.”

“You’re on.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri took to the ice to try his first quad salchow without the harness, and promptly began to doubt himself.

He found himself lying sprawled out on the ice after an exceptionally violent fall on his first attempt moments later.

Viktor was rushing over to him, and from across the ice Yuuri heard a familiar voice shout “I told you pigs don’t fly!”

Yuuri pushed himself up off the ice and turned to smile weakly at Viktor.

“What was that, three minutes? I think you win. Like usual.”

Viktor offered Yuuri a half smile, but his eyes were full of worry.

“What were you thinking, as you did that jump?” Viktor asked.

At first, he thought Viktor was mad at him for doing the jump, but he quickly realized the other man was genuinely asking.

Yuuri looked at Viktor for a long moment, trying to decide how to respond.

“Um, I don’t know. Just that I couldn’t do it, I guess. I was expecting to fall.”

“Well there is your problem!”

“What?”

“If you go into a jump excepting them to fail, you’re never going to set up your take off properly. You will be setting yourself up for failure,” Viktor asked. “Well, do you think about how you’re going to fall when doing your quad flip?”

“Um, usually, at least partially. Not so much recently. Definitely the first time though, and the first dozen times after that.”

Viktor’s face fell.

“What—I mean, you don’t expect to land a new jump the first time you do, don’t you? It’s a surprise.”

Viktor looked at Yuuri with a very serious expression on his face that was unfamiliar on his usually light and youthful looking features.

“Yuuri—I love surprises, but that has never been a surprise I’ve experienced. I think I always hoped that the next time would be the time. You make it sound like you learned your jumps on accident.”

Yuuri looked down at his skates.

“It wasn’t an accident, entirely. I guess. I mean, I knew that landing them was a possibility, of course. I just didn’t expect to.”

“Can you do the quad flip for me?” Viktor asked suddenly.

“Um, sure,” Yuuri nodded and backed away from Viktor, beginning to pick up a bit of speed before he launched himself into the air and landed again cleanly.

“Okay, what were you thinking?” Viktor asked after Yuuri had skated back over to where the other man stood on the ice.

“What?”

“During the flip, what were you thinking?”

Yuuri only ever thought about one thing during the flip now a day.

“Um, you,” Yuuri murmured, hoping that Viktor couldn’t hear him.

“Me?” Viktor asked, sounding a bit awed.

“Yes,” Yuuri admitted again, this time slightly louder. “It is your signature jump. I think everyone thinks about you if they’re attempting a quad flip.”

“But they don’t land it as regularly as you do now,” Viktor murmured.

Yuuri didn’t know what to say to that.

“I’m going to do the sow, okay?” Viktor announced, suddenly. “Will you watch me?”

“What? Of course,” Yuuri replied without thinking, but Viktor was already off—gliding across the ice and throwing his body into the air. The jump was tight and fast, and Viktor landed it effortlessly. And then Viktor glided out of the jump, Yuuri realized he was angled right at him.

The man was gliding right towards him, and it didn’t seem like he planned to stop.

And then Viktor plowed into him, wrapping his arms tightly around Yuuri as they both slid along the ice trying to remain upright until they slowed to a stop.

After a second, Viktor pulled away a bit, still leaving his arms wrapped around Yuuri’s neck, and bowing his head so their foreheads pressed against each other.

“Viktor, what are you doing? Are you alright? Are you trying to injure us both for the season?” Yuuri asked frantically, at the same time Viktor asked, “Is this alright?”

Yuuri found himself nodding once and Viktor said nothing. Instead he only stared at Yuuri.

Yuuri grew quiet and stared back.

“I was showing you how to do a quad salchow,” Viktor whispered.

“I’ve seen you do them before, a hundred times, probably.”

“Yes, but I, rather foolishly, had never done one thinking of you before.”

Yuuri couldn’t think of anything he could possibly say in response to that.

“Do you think you could try to do one for me now,” Viktor asked.

“I—yes. Of course,” Yuuri stuttered. “Of course.”

Viktor grinned and unlatched himself from Yuuri.

“Can I look again, idiots?” Yuri called from across the ice.

Viktor and Yuuri turned to see that Yuri had turned his back to the rink.

“What, Yuri, do you disapprove of my coaching methods?” Viktor asked, skating over to the edge of the rink where Yuri had been standing to film them. Yuuri followed close behind him.

“You’re going to get us all in big trouble if that’s what you think coaching is,” Yuri muttered.

Viktor reached out over the barrier to Yuri and ruffled his hair.

“No one is around to care,” Viktor said simply.

Yuri only growled and swatted Viktor’s hand away and made to smooth his hair out.

“Why am I helping out you two idiots anyway?” he muttered.

“Because you adore us,” Viktor teased.

“I do not!” Yuri protested. “Why is the piggy not flying right now? It is my turn for the ice soon.”

“Yes of course it is,” Viktor smiled. “Well go on Yuuri. Skate your quad for me.”

And so Yuuri did, skating across the rink backwards before launching into the air. But this time he thought about Viktor. He wanted to make Viktor proud. He wanted to make Viktor feel like he wasn’t wasting his time on him.

And then Yuuri landed. He spun out of it, wobbling as a leg flew out and he leant forwards trying to stabilize himself as he kept spinning even after landing on the ice. He didn’t touch down with his hand though. And he certainly didn’t fall.

“Yes! Yuuri there you go!”

After he’d stabilized himself and managed to skate out of the rough landing, Yuuri looked over to see Viktor cheering for him.

Yuuri skated quickly over to the man, and the other man met the gesture, skating to meet him in the middle of the rink.

“I did it!” Yuuri gasped.

“You did! It was beautiful Yuuri!”

“That landing was an embarrassment,” Yuri called from the edge of the rink, but Yuuri ignored him.

He stared at Viktor with a huge grin on his face, and Viktor beamed right back.

 

* * *

 

Another day passed, and Yuuri consistently landed the quad, but while it got better, he’d still been unable to land it as cleanly as he’d.

Yuuri, Viktor, and Yuri were currently sitting beside the rink, watching some of the videos that Yuri had taken of Yuuri’s quad, trying to figure out how to tweak it so he’d land it more cleanly. They huddled around Viktor’s laptop, where they’d uploaded the videos from Yuuri’s phone.

“I think you almost have too much power, that’s why you keep spinning out like you do,” Viktor observed, as they played the video for the tenth time.

“If I don’t jump with as much power, I’m not going to get the rotations in and I’m going to crash. We already tried that,” Yuuri countered.

“It’s his feet when he lands, they're weird,” Yuri said, sounding bored.

“What?”

“You’re leaning way too much on the outside edge of your foot when you land, that’s why you spin out. Just because you’re supposed to land the salchow there doesn’t mean you’re supposed to land it like you’re trying to snap your ankle. And then you swing your body around to compensate and keep your balance, making you spin on the ice after landing. Really, you two are such idiots. Particularly you, piggy. Honestly, you have every other quad but for some reason you cannot land a sow cleanly, still. Idiots.” Yuri muttered.

Viktor and Yuuri exchanged glances.

“Wait, no, can you show me?” Yuuri asked, turning eagerly to look back at the young skater.

Yuri groaned and stood up. He tightened the laces on his skates lazily for a few moments before going out onto the ice. Yuuri and Viktor stood to watch him.

“Watch this, morons,” the teen commanded before jumping and spinning out like Yuuri did. “See, you are like this,” Yuri said as he shifted his weight to the outside edge of his foot and slowly brought himself into a more controlled spin this time without jumping. “You should be like this,” Yuri jumped again, landing the quad effortlessly.

“Right, okay,” Yuuri said, not quite understanding what the teen was talking about, but willing to try from what he had worked out.

“Honestly, just land it like you do all your other jumps. Really, such idiots.”

Yuuri laughed.

“Okay, sure I’ll try that,” Yuuri said as he stepped out on the ice to join the junior champion.

Yuuri worked up to the jump again, thinking of Viktor as he always did now, but this time as he went through the rotations and prepared to land, he thought about what Yuri said. And somehow, his foot met the ice a bit more purposefully, and he shifted his weight in a way that felt a bit less natural, and Yuuri found himself gliding out of the jump.

“Fucking finally,” he heard Yuri shout.

Yuuri spun around to look at the young teen for a second, but then his eyes quickly found Viktor. The man was staring at him, his eyes wide.

Yuuri skated over the edge of the ice and met Viktor over the barrier.

“Viktor?” Yuuri asked as the man still hadn’t said anything.

Viktor’s face warped into a fond smile and he leant closer to Yuuri.

“Welcome to the club,” he said quietly. “Our little club. I wouldn’t want to share it with anyone else.” Viktor murmured.

Yuuri could have told Viktor that he still hadn’t landed the quad salchow in competition, nor the loop technically speaking, although that one more for strategic purposes and less for ability. He could have said that it probably wasn’t even that impressive, that he should have had the salchow long before he had the loop, flip, and Lutz, as they were technically harder jumps that scored more points. He could have said hat not having the salchow was in all honestly not even a real hindrance if he had the higher scoring quads. He could have said that it had always been a mental block. He could have said that he shouldn’t have obsessed over it. He could have said that he shouldn't have made such a big deal about learning it. That now that he'd done it, he felt so stupid for having once not been able to.

But, of course, Yuuri said none of those things.

Instead he only smiled.

“What do you want for dinner?”


	11. St. Petersburg, Russia - November 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _?! Yuuri, what’s going on ?!_
> 
>  
> 
> What was going on?
> 
>  
> 
> _I made Viktor Nikiforov cry._

Viktor had said he wanted a nice meal to celebrate. He said he wanted to eat at the table tonight.

He said he wanted candles.

Yuuri’s mind was overcome by a stream of panicked expletives from the moment of Viktor’s suggestion until the time they returned to Viktor’s apartment.

Yuuri stood in the kitchen making pasta, a recipe from Celestino’s family that Yuuri had begged for after having dinner at his coach’s house one night many moons ago.

Pasta was like the most romantic food there was.

Perhaps a little too rich and carb-y for mid-season, but Yuuri didn’t give a fuck.

Finally, maybe, they were almost going to have a real date.

Well, still only sort of. Viktor had not explicitly asked Yuuri and Yuuri had certainly not explicitly asked Viktor. But friends don’t have candlelit dinners together, right? In most circumstances anyway. And if they did, there would probably be thorough joking discussion about their friendship-date.

But there was none of that. Yuuri was quietly humming while he stirred the sauce and behind him Viktor was riffling through his drawers to set the table.

It was so fucking domestic Yuuri could have died.

A few moments later, a pair of arms looped around Yuuri’s waist and Yuuri gasped in surprise as he felt Viktor’s chin come to rest on his shoulder.

“Good?” Viktor asked.

Yuuri hummed and nodded in affirmation.

“Smells good,” Viktor murmured and Yuuri listened to the sound of Viktor deeply inhaling next to his ear.

“It’s almost finished.”

“No hurry,” Viktor whispered, tightening his grasp around Yuuri.

They stood like that for a few more minutes and Yuuri wished he’d never have to ever be anywhere else ever again.

But then, an alarm rang out, and Yuuri nearly cursed aloud.

“I need to strain the pasta,” Yuuri admitted reluctantly, and even more reluctantly Viktor let go of Yuuri's waist and stepped away. “You can go sit at the table and wait for me. I’ll be over in just a few minutes.”

Viktor nodded and made his way over to the table.

When Yuuri turned around again, two bowls of pasta in his hands, he found that Viktor had delivered with his promise of candles.

As if by magic two glowing candlesticks had appeared along the table, and the lights around it had been dimmed.

And Viktor sat there at one end of the table, his face glowing in the candlelight, looking as beautiful as he ever looked, and Yuuri almost dropped the bowls in his wonder.

It was perfect. It was so, so perfect. They talked comfortably through dinner. Viktor praised Yuuri’s cooking once again and Yuuri pretended he wasn’t blushing. Yuuri told him where the recipe came from and talked more about his time in the US. When they finished, Viktor insisted on washing the dishes, but Yuuri insisted upon drying them, and they laughed and joked through the process, and Viktor blew a handful of soap bubbles into Yuuri’s face and they chased each other around the kitchen and wound up collapsed on the sofa. The conversation fell into a comfortable lull. Viktor had his feet in Yuuri’s lap as they both scrolled through their phones and just enjoyed each other’s presence.

Yuuri found himself going through his camera roll. He’d noticed, earlier, when they’d uploaded the videos of Yuuri’s quad onto the laptop that in addition to the videos Yuri had been taking, there were also photos. Yuri, for a reason that Yuuri could not even guess and knew he’d never be able to get out of the young skater, had taken dozens of pictures of Yuuri, and Viktor, and Yuuri and Viktor (as well as a couple of himself—clearly mid eye roll or with his fingers to his head in an imitation of a gun.)

Then he saw one that made his heart glow. It was from when while training on the harness Yuuri had wiped out and taken Viktor down with him. They were clearly lying sprawled out on the ice together, the harness visible around Yuuri's torso, and Viktor was looking at Yuuri fondly and Yuuri was smiling back. Yuuri was so glad that such a perfect moment had been captured.

Then, and idea took him, and Yuuri found himself opening Instagram and uploading the picture.

 **y-katsuki**  I finally got what I came here for. #WipeOut #HarnessTraining #Russia #FigureSkating #StupidQuads

Yuuri pressed the share button and closed the app, going back to his camera roll in search of any more undiscovered gems.

“Yuuri,” Viktor’s voice broke the silence a few moments later, and Yuuri looked up at the other man, a slightly dazed, but content smile on his face.

The second he caught the look on Viktor’s face though, Yuuri’s face fell and suddenly he felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

Viktor’s face was—well Yuuri didn’t even know how to describe it. It hadn’t looked any way he’d ever seen if before. But it was bad. Something very bad must have happened.

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri whispered.

For a second Viktor just stared at him as if it should have been obvious.

“Why did you post that picture?” Viktor snapped at Yuuri. "Where did you even get that picture?"

Yuuri was shocked.

“What—what do you mean?”

“You posted a picture of us online. Together. Why on earth would you do that?” Viktor elaborated, his voice rough with frustration in a way Yuuri had never heard it before. Yuuri found himself quickly clicking back to Instagram, like it might hold the answer.

“I don’t understand.”

Yuuri looked down at the phone in his hands, where the picture of Yuuri smiling while Viktor looked at Yuuri in that way he always seemed to look at Yuuri lit up the screen at the top of Yuuri’s feed.

Yuuri couldn’t understand why Viktor was suddenly so angry. He didn’t understand what was happening.

Everything had been perfect moments ago. And now this? How were things always falling apart for them so quickly?

And Yuuri couldn’t see the problem. Yuuri thought Viktor liked social media. He thought he’d be pleased that Yuuri had updated his own accounts. Viktor posted selfies with other skaters on social media all the time. There were at least a dozen pictures on the man's feed over the past six months of him with his rink mates, with Chris, or posing with fans at events for his sponsors. He thought he and Viktor were friends now.

He’d thought Viktor had liked him.

He thought Viktor  _wanted_  him.

Yuuri had been so proud of having Viktor’s affections, however undefined as they were. Viktor, who as far as Yuuri was concerned was one of the best people in the entire world, had liked Yuuri and had wanted him as a friend, maybe even more.

And Yuuri had wanted to share that. 

Viktor told Yuuri he wanted him around. He invited him to stay with him in Russia, for god’s sake, and now here they were again.

Things had been going so well too.

And now Viktor had gotten up from the couch and was pacing back and forth in front of Yuuri, running his fingers roughly through his hair, muttering under his breath in angry sounding Russian.

Before he could give it a second thought, Yuuri deleted the photo.

“I—I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I deleted it. It’s the middle of the night. It’s only been up a few seconds. I’m sure no one saw it.”

“Of course people saw it!” Viktor snapped again, then quickly turned to face Yuuri and sighed, collapsing back into the sofa. “Deleting it is probably worse. You might as well post it.”

“I don’t want to post it if it makes you so unhappy.” _I don’t want to ever look at that photo again if it reminds me of this moment._

Viktor sighed.

“It doesn’t make me unhappy, Yuuri. It just—” he sighed once again. “Maybe no one saw it,” he murmured, before picking up his phone and clicking through it with great determination, typing something out.

“I don’t have as many followers as you, and I didn’t tag you, and it was up for hardly two minutes,” Yuuri said pragmatically, although he mostly wanted to cry. Viktor said nothing. “But it’s…I think I’m going to go to bed, if that’s okay?”

“Yes, fine,” Viktor said dismissively, still staring determinedly at his own phone.

Yuuri went to his room and closed the door, unable to keep the spinning thoughts that were running through his mind at bay any longer.

 _Viktor is ashamed of me. He doesn’t want to be seen with me. I thought—he invited me to stay with him in Russia, he came all the way to Japan just to see me. I thought he liked me. I thought we were friends. I thought_ —the final thought feeling treacherous now— _I thought maybe we had become more_.

Yuuri sobbed, he sobbed harder than he had in months. He sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, curling up in the bed. He sobbed until he couldn’t breathe. He sobbed until there was no more dry space on his shirt sleeves to wipe his snot on. And then, still, he sobbed some more.

_Of course Viktor is ashamed of me. Of course he doesn’t want to be seen with me. Of course. How could I be so stupid? How could I ever think Viktor Nikiforov would ever like someone like me? I’m probably some kind of charity case, he’s probably just been taking pity on me this whole time. Felt too bad to turn me away when I came to St. Petersburg. He’d just been being nice to me out of pity. I’m probably—I’m worthless._

_No one is ever going to like you or want you around._

He sobbed so hard he didn’t hear the knock at the door.

He did notice, though, as it swung open, and light from the hall came pouring in, obstructed by only a tall man-shaped shadow.

“Yuuri, I just wanted to—"

Yuuri stared at Viktor with his red and swollen eyes wide.

Viktor gasped.

“Yuuri—”

Yuuri buried his face in his hands in embarrassment, as his body shook with another violent sob that he couldn’t hold back.

Yuuri felt the bed dip but couldn’t bring himself to look up. He sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

Maybe if he ignored Viktor he’d go away. He’d go away and let Yuuri finish crying and then pack his bags and go home and probably retire from skating. He thought he could do this. He’d forgotten about everyone else. Everyone else and how they are constantly judging him and making him feel things. Being alone had been so hard on him, but maybe being around other people was worse.

Yuuri could feel himself on the verge of hyperventilating.

 _Definitely worse_.

Eventually though, after taking several moments to try and slow his breathing, he finally stopped crying. With a loud sniff he looked up to see Viktor kneeling on the end of the bed, keeping some distance between himself and Yuuri, a pained look on his face.

“Yuuri—did something happen?”

Yuuri looked at Viktor blankly.  _Did something happen?_  Did Viktor not even know how much power he had to effect Yuuri?

“I—you’re—” but the words wouldn’t come out. He sat there mute and gaping, unable to get the words to escape his throat no matter how hard he tried.

Taken by an idea, Yuuri picked up his phone and typed out a message. Yuuri was so bad with talking at times like this, it’s like all of his words would leave him or lock themselves in his throat. Typing was easier.

It took a good moment before he could get himself to press send, but at least all the words could leave him at once.

_I thought you liked me, but you’re ashamed of me._

Yuuri stared at the screen as the message popped up as sent on the screen and a second later he heard Viktor gasp.

Weight shifted on the bed again and Yuuri looked up to see Viktor reaching out to touch him, but hesitating.

“Can I?” he asked.

Yuuri almost said no, but he just couldn’t. He wanted to trust that somehow Viktor’s touch would fix him, and fix everything. He knew how foolish that was to think. But too large a part of him wished it could be so, and so he nodded before looking back down to his lap.  

Yuuri felt Viktor lay his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders.

“Yuuri, I need you to look at me.”

Yuuri’s head snapped up automatically at the request.

He found himself looking up at the other man as he knelt on the bed before him.

“I’m not ashamed of you Yuuri. And I do like you,” Viktor admitted softly, rubbing his thumbs absentmindedly back and forth on Yuuri’s shoulders.  “I’m just afraid of what might happen, here especially, to me, to  _you_ , if people knew how much.”

And then it all hit Yuuri with the force of a tsunami, all of it.

Yuuri had hardly let the idea that Viktor might  _like him, like him_  enter his mind for more than a few minutes at a time. The few times his mind did wander, Viktor filled the role of some kind of fairy tale prince or their life played out like a romantic comedy. And when he’d thought about that fact that both he and Viktor were men, he’d thought about it in terms of Viktor-probably-doesn’t-like-men. He had very rarely considered it enough to think about the implications. To think about their relationship outside of the bubble that Viktor seemed to surround Yuuri in whenever they were together.

He’d never thought to be afraid of the world in that way— he’d been too busy being afraid of Viktor.

He’d been too busy being afraid of himself.

“Oh,” was all Yuuri could say.  

 _Viktor liked him_ , the thought came euphoriously. But Viktor was…closeted.

And Yuuri realized that in the grand scheme of things, he probably was too.

Most of his friends and family knew or had surmised. Some he’d told outright in his late teens, many he left to find out through the grape vine or assume. He was never very good at coming out or being Proud™ though. He was so private and so terrified of what everyone else thought of him, he didn’t go around parading his sexuality like a badge. And he wasn’t very camp, and he never purposefully tried to dress or act or speak in ways that might let people know more instantaneously. He always told himself that he just wanted to be himself—a whole person, not just a sexuality.

But at the same time, being himself had always terrified him.

If you weren’t yourself—if you kept yourself locked away—then if people didn’t like you, then you could just say,  _well, they don’t really know me_.

If people knew you though, and still didn’t like you, and still  _hated_  you, then that hurt. That was devastating.

Yuuri didn’t like to think of himself as being closeted though, since some people did know. The world didn’t know. His fans didn’t know. People who only knew him casually didn’t know. Japan didn’t know. Maybe some people had guessed. Some people would always guess. But they didn’t ask. But Yuuri had always thought he would have answered honestly if they had.

If he didn’t ever lie, then he was out. That had always been his logic, anyway.

But then, Yuuri was probably very good at avoiding the question. He didn’t hang out with people after all. He didn’t have a lot of friends. If he was in a conversation and people were talking about romance or sex or significant others, Yuuri would say nothing, and he’d play the innocent virgin with absolutely no experience and nothing to say about any of this card that had always been very easy for him to play.

He’d never had a real grown up relationship. He’d so rarely acted on his feelings, besides during his dark period where things were done in the privacy of dark basements, and a few half-assed and disastrous attempts at dating in college.

He’d never even kissed a man sober.

But in the real world, if Viktor actually liked him, did Yuuri want people to know? Not just that Viktor ambiguously respected him, but that he was more? In the real world, where there were so many other people with their opinions, not in some fantasy land where everything was perfect and nothing ever hurt and being loved solved all of your problems, did he want people to know?

Yuuri wasn’t sure. He absolutely wasn’t sure.

Viktor seemed sure though. He seemed very sure.

“You never told me,” Yuuri murmured, unable to think of anything else to say.

“I thought you understood,” Viktor said. “I thought—I know you didn’t show it—you’re so modest and self-doubting. But I thought deep down you must have known. I’ve spent the last month chasing you around the world—and you chased me back, how could you not know?”

Yuuri listened to the man as he rambled. Yuuri could see Viktor trying to bypass his emotions and go straight into fixer mode, as he so often did. But after a few seconds he stopped really hearing what the other man was saying because he was mostly too busy trying to string everything together in his own mind. The disguises the first time they went out. Viktor not putting anything on social media about being in Hasetsu. Viktor not putting anything on social media about Yuuri at all. Viktor hiding in the stands most of the Rostelecom cup, only coming to stand with his team when Yuuri had inadvertently convinced him it would only look like he was supporting Georgi instead of him. The reason why the date hadn’t been a date. Georgi standing guard at the toilet door when Viktor came in to hold him. Viktor telling Yuri that there was no one around to care that he was being physically affectionate with Yuuri. The most blissful moments of their relationship being those behind the locked door of Viktor’s apartment.

“Everything has been so hidden, how was I supposed to know? I could only hope—I could only hope,” Yuuri murmured. “And even if—even if you couldn’t hold my hand or kiss me or proclaim love for me or—” Yuuri fumbled, wondering if he’d taken it too far, but managed to quickly push those doubts aside. “Or  _whatever_ in public, you could have in private!” Yuuri’s sadness was quickly replaced by the frustration that had been boiling up inside of him for so long now and was finally spilling out.

Yuuri reached out to push Viktor off of him, accidentally shoving the man so hard he fell backwards, catching himself on the backs of his forearms.

“How was I supposed to know?” Yuuri asked roughly, his voice suddenly feeling hoarse from the tears, and the sobbing, and all of it. “Do you know, what it’s done to me, trying to figure you out? It’s been killing me Viktor. Killing me!”

Viktor gasped at Yuuri’s admission. The world froze for a few minutes as Yuuri watched Viktor’s face finally crumble, all the man’s shields coming down in an instant. There was no more Viktor Nikiforov, just a man with panic and pain in his eyes.

“I didn’t know, Yuuri!” Viktor pleaded, pushing himself back up onto his knees before Yuuri. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry!”

“How were you supposed to?” Yuuri tried to shout but instead the words came out as a hoarse whisper.

“I’m sorry, Yuuri. Please. I’m sorry,” Viktor repeated over and over. He slipped into Russian, continuing to babble, his voice desperate, even though Yuuri could no longer understand his pleas.

Yuuri was horrified to realize the other man was crying. The anger left Yuuri like air leaves a popped balloon.

“It’s alright.”

Viktor instantly looked up at this, his eyes big and wet.

“Well, no it’s not alright,” Yuuri amends somberly and watches Viktor’s eyes shimmer with another influx of tears. “We’ve both been really bad at this, haven’t we?” Yuuri said with a sigh.

For a second, Yuuri watches as an idea flashes across Viktor’s face. It is Viktor’s token,  _I know how to fix everything with my wit and charm and stubbornness alone!_ face. It’s a bit warped by the redness and puffiness of crying, but it was there none the less.

Viktor’s ideas, Yuuri had learned though, only seemed to actually fix things maybe fifty percent of the time, and Yuuri wasn’t optimistic about whatever this idea was.

Viktor Nikiforov was fighting his way back.

“Yuuri,” Viktor breathed, Viktor-esque awe and charm taking over his otherwise currently flat and exhausted sounding voice, “Can I kiss you?”

Yes, this was definitely not one of Viktor’s best ideas.

“No,” Yuuri said without hesitation.

As the word crossed Yuuri’s lips, Viktor crumpled. Then he was moving, up off the bed, out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

A large part of Yuuri wanted to go after him, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t in any shape to take care of Viktor right now, he was still too raw himself.

Yuuri collapsed back down onto the bed. He found he didn’t have any more tears to cry, and instead he stared blankly at the wall.

He hoped to fall asleep. But that was too optimistic. He tried to shut his eyes, but they seemed to sting even more as he did so. He felt heavy with exhaustion, but his body would not shut down.

Yuuri tossed and turned for probably a solid forty-five minutes before he gave up. He slipped out of bed and made his way down the hall.

He stood in front of Viktor’s door for minutes debating what the fuck he was doing.

_He’s probably asleep. He probably doesn’t want to talk to you._

Then Yuuri began to pace.

_What am I doing? I don't know what I'm doing._

Then he took out his phone and sent a text.

_Are you busy?_

The response came back quickly and Yuuri found himself sinking down against the wall across from Viktor’s room as he was flooded with relief.

_What’s up?_

_Phichit, everything is really fucked up,_ Yuuri replied.

_Can I call you?_

_No, not right now._

_?! Yuuri, what’s going on ?!_

What was going on?

_I made Viktor Nikiforov cry._

What Yuuri got in response was only dozens of exclamation points and question marks.

_And I think I should…comfort him. But I don’t know if it’s appropriate since he thinks I rejected him. Which I did, technically. But I’m a disaster person and Viktor is probably better off without me._

Yuuri sent the text and watched as the typing bubble appeared, disappeared, and reappeared several times while Phichit clearly tried to work out what the fuck was going on and what he could possibly say.

 _Is this about the picture?_  Phichit’s response finally came.

Yuuri’s heart fell into his stomach.

_You saw it?_

_Yes, it was cute. And then you deleted it a few seconds later._

_He got mad. Really, really mad._

_What did that bastard do?_  The response came instantly and Yuuri smiled sadly at his friend’s readiness to defend him.

 _Nothing like that. He was just frustrated. And then I went to my room and cried. And then he caught me crying. And then he said that he liked me, but he didn’t want people to know. And then I tried to yell at him. And then he cried. And then he asked if he could kiss me. And I said no. And he ran away,_ Yuuri gave Phichit as detailed a play-by-play as he could bring himself to.

 _And that was about an hour ago,_  he added.

The next response took longer to come, and Yuuri held his breath as he waited for it. When it finally appeared, it was only a brief command.

_Answer the phone._

Then a call came in and Yuuri did as he was told.

“Look, you don’t have to say anything, Yuuri, but I needed to say this to you out loud to make sure you heard it okay? You need to talk to him. Whether you can do it now or in the morning, I don’t think it matters. But you need to talk to him,” Phichit’s voice came down the line.

“Okay,” Yuuri whispered.

“But I think that you need to make a decision about what you want before you try to. You need to know exactly what you want, and what you are and aren’t willing to compromise on.”

“What? But—I don’t know.”

“Okay, well that's what I’m here for," Phichit said matter-of-factly. "First question—do you want a relationship with Viktor Nikiforov?”

Yuuri’s mind span.

“Note I did not ask whether you think Viktor Nikiforov wants a relationship with you. If he would have you, do you want a relationship? Is that something you think you could handle?” Phichit asked firmly. “You don’t have to tell me Yuuri. You just have to decide for yourself.”

Did he want a relationship with Viktor?

In spite of everything, Yuuri hardly had to think about that. Of course he did. If Viktor would have him, of course he would.

As if Phichit could read his mind, he was speaking again.

“Okay, and now the second question—would you be willing to keep your relationship private, indefinitely?”

The answer to that came more slowly. A part of Yuuri felt instinctively that no, a relationship that he was not allowed to tell anyone about was never going to work out. Maybe, just maybe, sometimes they did. But it was far more likely it would end in disaster.

Did Yuuri want a disaster?

“Is Viktor worth it?” he heard Phichit ask a few seconds later, and everything slid into place.

Yes. Yes. Yes. Viktor was worth everything.

Yuuri wanted a relationship. He wanted to feel at least half normal for a second. He knew normal people didn’t have to keep their relationships secret, but it was enough.

And more than anything, Yuuri wanted to feel loved.

Even if only on a part time basis.

Even if he knew that statistically it would end, Yuuri wanted to be loved.

And if Viktor wanted to love him, or even just strongly like him, or even just go through the motions of an imitation of loving, for some god forsaken reason, Yuuri would let him. Any of it, he would take.

“Now Yuuri, remember what you want, and find a way to tell Viktor.”

Yuuri nodded, knowing Phichit would know that he understood even through the silence.

“I’m going to let you go now. Tell me how it goes when you get the chance. Call or text if you need me.”

And then Phichit hung up.

And Yuuri stood up and took the few steps across the hall to Viktor’s room and knocked on the door.

There was no response. Yuuri slowly turned the knob and peaked in.

Through the darkness, he saw a lump on Viktor’s bed, outlined by another lump of beige fur.

“Viktor,” he whispered.

Viktor did not stir, but Makkachin lifted her head. Yuuri could see the faintest bit of movement as Viktor’s hand stroked against her fur. Viktor was still awake.

“Can I—can I come in?” Yuuri asked. “You can tell me to leave, if you want. It’s alright.”

There was no response.

Slowly, Yuuri made his way over to Viktor’s bed. Then, in an act of great courage, he lay down on the bed behind Viktor. The other man was lying so he had his back turned to Yuuri, and Yuuri left distance despite the urge to spoon the other man.

Then, Yuuri let the room fall silent. He tried to tell himself that he was letting Viktor acclimate to his presence, but really Yuuri was just trying to work up the courage to force words out of his mouth.

“When I—” he finally whispered, although his voice hitched with the effort. “When I said no, I didn’t mean never,” he admitted. “I just meant not then.”

The words fell out of his mouth and suddenly there was movement as Viktor’s body began to turn. For a second, Yuuri became nervous— he worried the man was going to run away again, or maybe even do something worse. But then, Yuuri found himself looking at Viktor’s face as the man finished rolling over.

“Oh?” the other man breathed.

“Yes,” Yuuri affirmed. “We were crying. If we—I want whatever happens with us to be good and special. I don’t want—I didn’t want--- I’d been crying.  _You_   _were_  crying. It just, it wouldn’t have been good. Relationships are supposed to be good things.”

“Relationships?” came another breath.

And Yuuri knew it was now or never.

“Er, yes. Relationships. I mean—if you wanted one, I’d have one. With you. You have to know that.” Yuuri took a deep breath before continuing. “Even if we keep it quiet. As long as I knew. As long as we knew. I would. Have a relationship. With you. If that’s something you want.”

Yuuri’s confession was rough. It was stuttered. Hard words were avoided. But it had been made. Yuuri had laid it out on the table, and now all Yuuri could do was wait for Viktor’s response.

But Viktor didn’t say anything.

And Yuuri began to panic.

_Oh my god. Oh my god. I misunderstood everything again, somehow. He doesn’t want you anymore. You ruined everything._

“If you don’t, though. Don’t worry. It’s, uh, fine. I shouldn’t have said anything," Yuuri quickly began to backpedal.

Finally, Viktor smiled.

“Yuuri,” Viktor whispered. “I’d like that.”

Yuuri felt his eyes bulged out of his head in astonishment.

“Like what?” he asked cautiously, probably sounding completely dense.

Viktor chuckled softly.

“I’d like a relationship. A romantic one. With you. And probably a sexual one too eventually, if you’re interested,” Viktor finished, a Viktor-esque gleam returning to his eyes as he teased.

Yuuri gaped.

“Oh,” he gasped.

All he could do was stare at Viktor with his mouth hanging slightly open.

The silence dragged on until Yuuri swore Viktor rolled his eyes. 

“So what did you have in mind we do now?” Viktor asked. He was smiling. His tone was playful.

Yuuri had survived the conversation. Viktor was being Viktor again, but in a good way. He wasn't crying or yelling at Yuuri or kicking him out onto the cold streets of St. Petersburg. He was smiling. He was teasing. He looked happy. 

Yuuri should have been happy too.

Yuuri and Viktor were in a relationship. Officially. A romantic one. _Maybe eventually a sexual one._

But it all made Yuuri very nervous.

Even with everything now defined, Yuuri still was left thinking,  _what did this mean?_

Yuuri had no real experience with relationships. All he knew about them was what he’d seen through movies and the people he knew.

Could he do this? What was he thinking?

“Um, could I—could I maybe hold you? And we could sleep?” Yuuri suggested finally. That seemed like the right thing to do. That was the natural thing to do.

But Viktor for some reason seemed surprised by this.

“Hold  _me_?” he asked.

“Um, yes,” Yuuri responded, not sure what there was to explain. “I believe they call it spooning in English. And there are big spoons and little spoons. And I was saying that maybe tonight I could be the big spoon. Even if you’re technically bigger," Yuuri tried to mimic Viktor’s playful grin, but instead his face just kind of scrunched up like he was pained.

For another second, Viktor just looked at him with a puzzled expression, but then his face cleared into a warm smile.

“Yes, alright. I’d like that.”

For a few more seconds they just looked at each other before Viktor rolled back over. Once Viktor got himself settled, Yuuri carefully skooched closer until his body was slotted against the other man. He curled one of his arms up under his head and slung the other one around Viktor. He felt Viktor’s hand come to rest over top of his own.

"I like that you always surprise me, Yuuri. I like a lot of things about you, but that's at the top of the list," Viktor murmured.

 _!!!!_ , was the only way to describe the thought that went through Yuuri's mind as Viktor offered up this so tangible detail— proof that Viktor truly did like him back. 

 _Okay_ , Yuuri exhaled slowly. He could do this. This was nice. It was really nice. He squeezed Viktor tightly for a moment and nuzzled his face against the back of his shoulder. 

He could do this.

Viktor let out a content sounding sigh.

This was perfect.


	12. St. Petersburg, Russia - November 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You two did it, didn’t you?”
> 
> Yuuri did his best impression of a tomato and Viktor’s eyes imitated saucers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a bit longer to get up than usual. The last chapter unexpectedly destroyed me and it took a while to find words again. In other news Yuuri only cries like twice in this chapter which is probably a record and it is otherwise entirely fluff.

Yuuri woke up slowly the next morning, and the first thing he noticed was that Viktor was staring at him.

Yuuri blinked as he remembered the night before.

He was in bed with Viktor Nikiforov.

Not in an illicit way, but they had slept in the same bed together.

They had  _cuddled_.

For a second Yuuri just let himself take it all in—the way Viktor looked in the morning sunlight, with his hands tucked under his head and his hair a bit mussed looking. He was still as beautiful as ever, and Yuuri was entirely sure this couldn’t possibly be  _his_  life.

In his observations of the other man, though, Yuuri noticed that strangely Viktor looked slightly less sleep mussed than he’d imagine even Viktor Nikiforov would be able to avoid, and that the other man was looking at him open eyed and a little too eagerly, also unlike Yuuri who was blinking sleep out of his eyes.

“Morning,” Yuuri whispered after taking a moment to drink it all in.

“Good morning,” Viktor said cheerfully, a smile spreading across his face. “I have a surprise for you!”

“Oh?”

“Yes, come on!” Viktor said, pulling Yuuri up and out of bed.

Yuuri groaned. Yuuri had not pictured Viktor as a morning person.

Yuuri liked to think of himself as a morning person, but Yuuri’s morning person-ness was waking up any time between 6:30 and 8:00 and then lying in bed reading or thinking or doing anything to distract himself from the dread of facing the day until he absolutely had to get up.

He was not a chipper morning person. He just happened to be bad at sleeping.

Viktor, however, was apparently a very chipper morning person.

“Viktor what time is it? What’s going on?” Yuuri groaned again.

“You will see!”

Viktor ran out into the living space of the apartment, dragging Yuuri behind him, and came skidding to a halt in front of the kitchen table.

“Tada!” Viktor proclaimed.

Yuuri looked and saw the stack of pancakes that was on the table. Scratch that—not just a stack, but a small mountain of little pancakes looking ready to topple over.

Then he noticed the smell.

“Oh my god, Viktor, how many did you burn?”

“Only a dozen, do not worry about it,” Viktor said flippantly, “I took the batteries out of the smoke detector before I started cooking so as not to wake you.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes but still felt a little overwhelmed by Viktor’s general ridiculousness.

“That’s very considerate of you.”

“Yes, and there is one more surprise!” Viktor proclaimed running over to the fridge and swinging open the door. He reached in and triumphantly pulled out a can of whipped cream.

“You remembered!” Yuuri grinned.

“It has only been four days since you told me Yuuri, of course I remember. I am not that much of an airhead, I try to remember everything you tell me.”

Yuuri blushed and deflected.

“So what’s the occasion?”

“We’re celebrating, of course. You said pancakes are celebration food—like katsudon, but for breakfast.” Viktor grinned.

“I mean, I have had katsudon for breakfast before,” Yuuri shrugged.

“I’ll keep that in mind then,” Viktor said, but then his smiled faltered. “But mostly I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For last night. I over reacted about the picture. I think that I read more into it than most people would have. And I did that only because of how long I was letting both of us fester alone. And I apologize for that.”

Yuuri frowned in thought.

“So, it’s fine. No one saw the photo?” he asked after a moment.

“Oh, I’m sure people saw it. I’m sure somewhere on fan pages on the corners of the internet it’s circulating, but probably nowhere it matters,” Viktor shrugged, leading Yuuri over to the table to sit down.

“I told Yakov right after it happened though, in case any main stream media finds it and starts making speculations. If anyone asks it’s easily explained away. We’re friends, I agreed to help train you in a spectacular display of good sportsmanship. You deleted it because you were worried about spoiling surprises for your program. Et cetera, et cetera,” Viktor still spoke so casually and flippantly, seeming to put more focus into fiddling with the whipped cream canister than what he was saying.

“Oh, okay,” Yuuri said, surprised by Viktor’s frankness and not thrilled at the prospect of lying.

“Again, I over reacted. I have pushed things much farther than that before. Once I was in Germany for a competition and someone got a picture of me one night with—” Viktor began but then stopped. “Never mind, a story for another time maybe.”

“I—” Viktor began again but paused for a moment and then got up from his chair and walked around the table to where Yuuri was sitting. Suddenly, Yuuri found that the other man was sitting in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck and their foreheads pressed together in what was easily one of the most intimate positions Yuuri had ever been in in his life. Yuuri’s mouth fell open in a small gasp as he looked into Viktor’s eyes. “I think I also overreacted because of you. I, like I said, push things all the time, as far as I can. I’m not ashamed—I’m not ashamed of who I am. But the idea of you—” Viktor didn’t finish the sentence. “It terrified me—you getting hurt, your career being effected.”

“Oh,” was all Yuuri said once again.

“But never mind all of that. Food’s getting cold,” Viktor said, his smile this time seeming a bit too tight as he picked up a pancake.

Yuuri wasn’t quite sure he was hungry and instead he glanced down. He then realized his hands where resting on Viktor’s thighs and he suddenly pulled them away, balling his hands together at his chest.

He heard Viktor sigh, breath ghosting across his face before he pulled away, still in Yuuri’s lap, but untangling his arms from around Yuuri’s neck and putting space between them.

“Yuuri, look at me.”

Yuuri did.

Viktor had his I’m-going-to-fix-everything face on again. Yuuri felt himself deflate pessimistically. Did the man never learn?

“Close your eyes?” Viktor asked.

Yuuri furrowed his brow.

“Just do it, please,” Viktor added with an optimistic half smile.

Yuuri did, reluctantly.

He felt Viktor’s weight shift in his lap and then felt a presence new in front of his face, before there was a squirting sound and something cold hit the tip of his nose.

Yuuri’s eyes instantly flew open and his mouth formed into an ‘o’ as he gasped. The whipped cream that Viktor had squirted onto his face dripped off of his nose and onto his chin.

A lot of thoughts went through his head all at once.

The first was that it was—well it was dirty, wasn’t it?

Just a bit. Or maybe even obscenely.

There was a flash of a false memory, but Yuuri shoved it aside, refusing to let anything ruin this moment for him.

This wasn’t like that. This was too ridiculous to be anything like that.

A lot of thoughts were running through Yuuri’s mind though, so quickly it was like they were coming all at once.

Thankfully though, with some small miracle and one more look at the adorable cheeky grin on Viktor’s face to ground him, Yuuri found himself laughing.

“If you ever spray anything on my face again without asking first Nikiforov, I don’t know if I’ll be so quick to forgive you,” he warned, but his tone was light.

Viktor’s eyes widened, as if he hadn’t even considered the innuendo of it all. Hell, maybe he hadn’t. Viktor did seem good naturedly innocent that way.

“Yuuri!” he gasped, sounding scandalized. “I would never!”

Yuuri only kept laughing. So maybe he couldn’t trust Viktor to fix things all the time with sheer optimism and charisma, but moments like this were enough pay off for Viktor’s gambles.

Viktor’s face adapted a coy smile.

“So you’re saying I can… spray things on your face… if I ask your permission first then?”  

That shut Yuuri up. Now it was his turn for his eyes to widen.

“I am joking!” Viktor let out a laugh and Yuuri picked his jaw up off the ground. “Or at least we have plenty of time to discuss such things,” Viktor said pleasantly as he casually took a pancake and used it to wipe the whipped cream off of Yuuri’s face, the action crude and awkward with it absurdity.

“Viktor!” Yuuri gasped.

“What?” the other man asked as he popped the aforementioned pancake in his mouth.

“You’re ridiculous. And disgusting.”

“You were the dirty one,” Viktor defended. “I was just cleaning up.”

Yuuri drew in a breath at the off handed comment Yuuri knew Viktor didn’t mean anything by, but it stung none the less. He looked away from Viktor again as his mind began to work itself up.

 _If only he knew,_  his mind taunted.

_What if he knew?_

_No. Fuck that. Fuck that._

Yuuri’s hands curled into fists unconsciously in frustration, unintentionally grasping the fabric at the base of Viktor shirt.

“Yuuri?”

Viktor’s voice snapped him out of it.

“We’re having pancakes,” Yuuri said matter-of-factly as he tried to ground himself back into the routine of the morning. He only realized how strange it must have sounded after it left his lips and Viktor furrowed his brow. “I mean, let’s eat.” Yuuri clarified.

“Yes, of course,” Viktor looked at Yuuri a bit skeptically, but quickly wiped the look off his face and finally a bit reluctantly got off of Yuuri’s lap to go sit back down across the table. “Bon appétit!”

Yuuri picked at the pancakes as Viktor began to speak jovially about the plans for the day, and quickly they fell into a sort of rhythm. Things weren’t too different. Viktor and Yuuri had liked each other as much as they did now for weeks, the only thing that was different was now they knew the other felt the same way.

That should only make things easier.

Yuuri would adjust. As long as he stayed in the moment and didn’t let himself get to wrapped up in all the still undiscussed what-ifs on the future, he could handle this.

Viktor had whipped cream on the tip of his nose now, and his lips were just a bit stained from the berries, and he was laughing lightly—his entire face shining.

Viktor was so beautiful, and Yuuri wanted him more than he could possibly deserve to.

Yuuri would figure out how to handle this if it killed him.

 

* * *

 

Viktor had insisted they go out and play tourist after breakfast. Yuuri hadn’t seen much of St. Petersburg besides the skating rink and Viktor’s apartment, and it was his last full day in Russia before he went back to Japan—he took a red eye flight out the following evening.

It worried Yuuri—having to leave Viktor again so soon. Their relationship still felt so fragile. So Viktor liked him. But what did that mean? Were they dating? Were they…courting? Were they…boyfriends? Would things just naturally progress along from friends to lovers? Did Yuuri need to do something to help them along? Or was Viktor going to take care of all of that?

The only thing that seemed to change about their relationship so far was that occasionally Viktor would talk about himself in non-superficial ways and he touched Yuuri a lot more now.

But it was easy for Yuuri to let himself be wrapped up in Viktor and not worry about all of those other things—with the way Viktor would now drop his voice low sometimes when he spoke to Yuuri like everything he said was a secret just for Yuuri and brushing his fingers against the small of Yuuri’s back or reaching to brush Yuuri’s hair out of his eyes.

Being with Viktor was easy.

He’d  _never_  had such an easy time with not thinking about what worried him when he was alone then when he was with Viktor. All of those songs about being drunk on someone’s love had always seemed ridiculous until now. Viktor was better than alcohol, maybe even better than skating, at making Yuuri forget.

So when Viktor pulled Yuuri’s hand and told him to get his coat because he wanted to show him the city, Yuuri didn’t even hesitate to agree.

They bundled up and set out on foot. They probably walked for miles, Viktor excitedly dragging Yuuri from big ornate building to big ornate building. Viktor had the strangest tastes in museums as well. He bypassed the Russian museum, didn’t take Yuuri inside a single one of the palaces, but instead dragged him into the Museum of Russian Vodka and the Fabergé Museum.

Yuuri didn’t mind, per say. The only thing he had wanted to see in St. Petersburg was Viktor, anything else was a bonus.

“In all honesty, I find that if you have ever been in one palace nearly anywhere in the world, you have been in all of them,” Viktor said with a shrug. “But Vodka and little decorative egg gifts are the most Russian things I can think of.”

Yuuri laughed and rolled his eyes.

“Ah yes, Russia—come for the Vodka, stay for the little decorative egg gifts.”

“I will put you in contact with our department of tourism,” Viktor laughed. “But you didn’t come for the vodka though, you came for me,” Viktor teased, bumping up against Yuuri’s arm as they walked along the river.

They didn’t hold hands, too aware of all the other people constantly around them in the cities center, but they’d walked close, occasionally accidently on purpose brushing hands.

The day had passed too quickly, and now the sun was setting and Yuuri’s feet were beginning to ache, but he’d walk until they bled as long as Viktor was beside him. They seemed to have found themselves in a game of chicken neither one wanted to lose by mentioning returning to the apartment. So instead they kept walking, even though it was growing dark, and the autumn chill was intensifying as the sun disappeared.

“I did,” Yuuri affirmed as they continued to walk along. “I wish I wasn’t leaving tomorrow,” he murmured.

“So do I. But you have to train and go win gold at the NHK Trophy. And I have to go compete too, because I’d really like to see you again soon and it would be very sad if I didn’t make it to the final.”

Yuuri scoffed. If Viktor didn’t make it to the final, it should be considered a sign of the apocalypse.

“So you won’t be following me back to Japan again?” Yuuri said instead though, hoping he sounded teasing instead of disappointed.

“No, Yakov would murder me. And it would be too obvious that I’ve been stalking you.”

“Stalking?”

“Yes, I believe that best describes the actions my pining led me to.”

Yuuri stopped.

“Pining?” he squawked.

How could Viktor have possibly been _pining_ for _him_?

Viktor stopped as well and turned to face him, his brow knitted in confusion.

“Yes, of course.”

“But I’m the one who pines.”

Yuuri had the corner of the market on pining. Yuuri was well Yuuri. He was painfully awkward and painfully average. Viktor on the other hand was a splendid and rare as a Fabergé egg.

“I do not think that there is a rule that says only one person in the whole world is allowed to pine,” Viktor said.

Yuuri shook his head, quickly.

“No, I don’t mean—” Yuuri paused. “Why would you pine for me when you could have so easily had me any time you wanted?”

“I think that I could say the same thing for you.” Viktor was tilting his head now like a puppy and studying Yuuri with skepticism. “And that’s hardly true, I could have so easily scared you off if I made the wrong move too early.”

The second part was probably true to a certain extent, but even still the first part still stood. You didn’t pine for people who had obvious massive crushes on you. Pining would mean Viktor hadn’t known that he could have Yuuri, like he could have anyone, easily.

“But—no. You’re Viktor Nikiforov.”

“And you’re Katsuki Yuuri,” Viktor said matter-of-factly.

“No, you’re  _Viktor Nikiforov_.”

“And you’re  _Katsuki Yuuri_ ,” Viktor parroted back, eyes widening dramatically in mock awe as he said Yuuri’s name.

Yuuri sighed. Fine. Yuuri knew the other man understood, even if he was being stubborn about acknowledging it.

“You’re exasperating.”

“And you’re self-deprecating.”

“Yes, it’s my trademark. While yours is being  _Viktor Nikiforov_.”

“I can get you a better marketing team if you’d like,” Viktor shrugged.

“What? I don’t have a marketing team,” Yuuri said, completely missing the joke.

Viktor chuckled and Yuuri scrunched up his face in confusion.

“You’re adorable,” Viktor murmured.

Yuuri blushed and looked away.

“We should probably head back. I think I have one last dinner to make you,” Yuuri sighed, officially yielding.

“I hope it’s not the last,” Viktor said as Viktor leaned towards Yuuri, eyes boring into him earnestly. “I hope it’s one more of many.”

Yuuri’s mouth fell open a little and Viktor continued to lean forwards, leaning until his forehead clunked against Yuuri as he let out a rough sigh as he pulled away.

“I’m sorry I can’t kiss you now,” he sighed again. “It would have been perfect, yes? With the river and the sunset?”

Yuuri smiled sadly. It would have been pretty perfect.

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Enough.”

Viktor sighed and slumped down on a nearby bench.

“Why don’t we come up with something else, then?” Yuuri said, coming to sit beside Viktor.  

“Something else?”

“Yeah, when one of us wants to do something we can’t, we’ll do something else instead. Something we _can_ do instead,” Yuuri explained.

Viktor cocked his head, seeming to carefully consider the idea.

“Like what?”

Yuuri thought for a moment before he hesitantly turned to face Viktor and raised a hand. Slowly, he brought it to Viktor’s forearm and gave a light squeeze before letting go.

Viktor drew in a sharp breath and parroted the movement, giving Yuuri’s arm a quick squeeze in return.

“Only we’ll know what it means,” Yuuri said, offering a half smile.

Viktor nodded.

“It’s perfect,” he smiled back, but the smile quickly fell. “Well, not perfect. Perfect would be holding your hand and kissing you under the stars. But this is good enough. You are perfect enough to overcome all the other imperfections.”

Now it was Yuuri’s turn to suck in a sharp breath. How could this man possibly—?

“You can’t say things like that!”

“Why not? They are true,” Viktor shrugged.

Yuuri was left sputtering as Viktor rose from the bench and started walking in the direction of the apartment.

Yuuri quickly recovered and hurried after him.

 

* * *

 

Dinner had passed easily, a part of the routine the two had established so quickly and efficiently in the past week. Yuuri had made Katsudon for Viktor, feeling like it certainly was enough of an occasion for it, and the other man had gushed over it excitedly. After dinner they retired to the sofa, an animated movie playing on Viktor’s flat screen, Viktor lying down with his head in Yuuri’s lap, Yuuri cautiously stroking his fingers through the other man’s hair with his feet stretched out in front of him on the ottoman and Makkachin curled up around them. The night grew later, and they seemed to be caught in another game of chicken, both yawning with increasing frequency, but neither willing to call it a night.

This time it was Viktor who yielded.

“We should get to bed, falling asleep on the sofa would be no good for the body when we both have competitions coming up,” he sighed, pulling himself upright and out of Yuuri’s lap.

Yuuri found himself instinctively and desperately grabbing a hold of Viktor’s hand to pull the man back and letting go just as fast out of surprise over how franticly he’d acted to keep Viktor close.

“Is everything alright, Yuuri?”

That was always a good question when it came to Yuuri.

Yuuri realized he wanted something, desperately, but didn’t know how to ask.

“Um, I know, it’s um, weird. To have not even kissed or anything and to well—but we only have so much time left, and I know it will only be for a few weeks, but I don’t know when I’ll get to spend time with you again  _like this_  and,” Yuuri was still rambling when Viktor cut him off.

“I was hoping you’d want to.”

 _Huh?_ How could Viktor know?

What if he didn’t?

“Want to what?”

Viktor rolled his eyes.

“Just come to bed with me.”

 _Oh_.

“I’d like to hold you tonight.”

_Oohh._

“Oh. Alright. Yes. I’d like that.”

Viktor smiled and rolled his eyes.

“Silly man,” he laughed as he rose from the couch, holding a hand out to Yuuri.

Yuuri took it and let himself be pulled up and dragged towards Viktor’s bedroom.

 

* * *

 

_No._

_No no no no no no no._

_Why was he here? How did he get here?_

_“You’re so fucking hot.”_

_No. Why was this happening again?_

_Not now. Not now._

_“Get on your knees.”_

_No._

_No. No. No._

_“Look at you, begging for it.”_

_No!_

Yuuri woke up with a gasp. This happened all the time.

When Yuuri registered arms wrapped around him though, the panic returned. _This_ never happened.

He was scrambling away when he heard a voice that sounded familiar, and very different than the rough voice that had been speaking to him in Japanese in his dream.

“Yuuri? Yuuri what’s wrong?”

Startled and confused, Yuuri found himself sliding out of bed and onto the floor with a thump.

“Yuuri!” there was a gasp and a sharp word Yuuri didn’t know the meaning of, and then Yuuri found himself staring up at Viktor from the floor as the other man peeked his head over the edge of the bed.

“Yuuri, what is the matter? Did you have a bad dream?”

Yuuri found himself shaking his head furiously.

“What happened?”

Yuuri just kept shaking his head as tears began to sting his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and then repeated it again and again.

He was going to ruin things. Of course he was. Yuuri wasn’t worthy of someone like Viktor. Yuuri was a mess. He was such a mess. He felt so ashamed—about crying, about Viktor witnessing it, about Viktor inevitably having to take care of Yuuri and to worry about him.

Viktor’s movements were quick and fluid as he hopped off the bed and came to crouch in front of Yuuri.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, surely.”

Yuuri just shook his head.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The head shaking was more vehement now.

“Okay, that’s fine. Do you want to get back into bed at least?”

Yuuri stopped shaking his head and looked back at the bed for a long moment before slowly rising and pulling himself into it.

“Do you want me to stay? I can go to the other room if you would rather be alone.”

Yuuri shook his head again.

“Okay. I’m going to lie down then,” Viktor narrated as he crawled back into bed and lay down beside Yuuri, on his back and decidedly not touching him.

“If you want to talk about it, ever, I’ll listen,” Viktor offered into the darkness.

Yuuri said nothing, but instead reached out across the mattress and carefully intertwined his fingers with Viktor’s.

“Do you ever wonder what happened to me in those months between the final and the video?” Yuuri found himself asking. Why he didn’t know. Maybe it was his own selfishness. He shouldn’t be dragging Viktor any farther into the mess that was his life.

But some part of him wanted Viktor to know and understand, even though another part of him wanted to bury it.

“What?”

“Have you ever wondered about the time I disappeared?” Yuuri said, not sure how to clarify.

“You went back to Japan,” Viktor murmured, sounding lost. “You trained alone. You were hurting.”

Yuuri sighed.

He always wondered how other people thought about him. People always seemed to think Yuuri was more resilient, more innocent than he really was.

“Did something else happen?” Viktor asked after a moment.

Yuuri said nothing but tightened his grip just slightly on Viktor’s hand.

Viktor gasped and Yuuri knew he was realizing something. Probably too much and not enough all at once.

“Was it not a nightmare, but like a memory?”

_I don’t know._

_I wish I knew._

“We should get some sleep.”

Viktor said nothing in response, and they said no more that night. But Yuuri knew that neither of them fell asleep for a long while though as they clung to each other in the darkness.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri woke up to the sound of a buzzer blaring across the apartment.

“Oh my god, what is that?” he groaned before he could think, launching himself upright and nearly falling over Viktor in the process.

“It’s the door,” Viktor groaned unhelpfully as he made to stand up and rush towards the living area, clearly desperate to make it stop. Yuuri rolled out of bed and followed after him, making his way down the hall in time to see Viktor slam his hand into the intercom and grumble something in Russian.

A familiar angry Russian voice shouted back, and Viktor groaned.

He pressed another button, and it was only moments before there was angry pounding at the door. Viktor opened it and Yuri Plisetsky came barreling in, shouting in Russian. Then he noticed Yuuri standing across the room and he stopped.

“Oh, the pig is still here after all.”

Viktor rolled his eyes.

“What Yura means is that he was worried you left without saying goodbye.”

“I do not!” Yuri screeched.

“My flight isn’t until tonight,” Yuuri offered awkwardly.

“Whatever,” Yuri grumbled.

“Do you want to join us for breakfast?” Viktor asked.

“No! I want you to come back to the rink where you’re fucking supposed to be!”

“I’ll be back at the rink tomorrow and every day I’m not competing until the end of the season, Yura.”

“Agh!” Yuri growled in response.

“I wouldn’t mind skating with you one last time, Viktor, before I have to go,” Yuuri said softly, making eye contact with the other man.

“Oh, gross!” Yuri groaned.

“What?” Viktor and Yuuri asked in unison.

“You two did it, didn’t you?”

Yuuri did his best impression of a tomato and Viktor’s eyes imitated saucers.

“What would possibly make you say such a thing?” Viktor asked, his voice low and cautious.

Yuri rolled his eyes.

“People only look at each other like you two just did when they want to fuck.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but pale at that. Did this kid’s audacity have no bounds? Was he even old enough to know what sex was? Yuuri couldn’t think about sex without blushing until—well he still probably couldn’t do that. And he certainly never possessed the audacity to go around accusing people of having it just from the way they looked at each other.

And if it were that obvious, perhaps Yuuri and Viktor had a bigger problem than they realized.

“Yura, you are fourteen years old for Christ’s sake and making dangerous accusations,” Viktor warned.

Something flashed across Yuri’s face.

“Whatever. It was a joke. It’s not like I want to think about you sucking… face anyway, old man. None the less tell someone about it.”

“I would certainly hope so,” Viktor chided and Yuuri found himself smiling fondly at the other man’s paternal nature as he scolded the young skater.

The trio fell then into an awkward silence.

Yuri eventually sighed, sounding very put upon.

“You mentioned breakfast?”

Yuuri and Viktor exchanged glances quickly.

“I’ll make some eggs,” Yuuri offered.

“I want mine poached!” Yuri announced and with that the morning moved on like nothing had ever happened at all.

 

* * *

 

Viktor insisted on driving Yuuri to the airport, and parking the car and coming inside, even if he could only walk Yuuri to security.

They had spent the day at the rink after Yuri’s urging, mostly goofing off and doing very little actual training. It was fun though, and it reminded Yuuri of skating with Yuuko at Ice Castle as a child.

“I’ll call you and text, constantly,” Viktor promised as they stood in front of where the line for security began.

“If I don’t text back, try not to hate me?” Yuuri murmured. “I’ll probably convince myself that this was all a hallucination the second I walk away from you.”

“The way I feel about you is very real, Yuuri,” Viktor said solemnly.

“You’ll have to tell me why, someday. Why you like me,” Yuuri murmured.

“I’d tell you now if I had the time,” Viktor murmured. “But it would take me ages to go through everything I like about you.”

Yuuri sputtered for a moment before recovering.

“Nope, it turns out St. Petersburg’s best kept secret isn’t the vodka museum— it’s that Viktor Nikiforov is a shameless sap,” Yuuri teased.

Yuuri looked over at the growing line in front of security.

“I should go or else I’ll miss my flight,” he sighed.

“Your flight doesn’t board for an hour,” Viktor argued.

“And you’re supposed to arrive at least two hours early for international flights!” Yuuri defended.

Viktor sighed dramatically.

“If you want to leave me, just tell me, Yuuri,” Viktor whined, feigning hurt.

Yuuri reached out and squeezed Viktor’s arm.

“Never,” he said without a second thought.

“Now there is a big promise, Katsuki. Here you are teasing me for being overly sentimental,” Viktor said as he reached out to give Yuuri’s arm a return squeeze.

Yuuri could only shrug.

“I’ve adored you since I was a child, Viktor,” Yuuri admitted softly, staring down at his feet. “I’ve already got over a decade under my belt. Even if you come to your senses and realize you don’t want me, I doubt there will ever not be at least a small part of me that doesn’t adore you.”

Yuuri looked up again when he felt another squeeze on his arm.

Yuuri watched as Viktor opened his mouth to speak again but didn’t let him.

“I really have to go. I’ll see you at the final.”

“Less than a month,” Viktor stated.

“Less than a month,” Yuuri confirmed.

Yuuri reached out to give Viktor’s arm one more squeeze before he picked up his bag and started to make his way towards the line before he or Viktor could talk him out of it.

He didn’t let himself look back as he stood in line and he tried his damnedest to pretend he wasn’t starting to cry.

Yuuri knew, in the abstract, that finally having something like happiness and then having so quickly to leave it behind would probably hurt, but this was so much worse than he imagined.

He failed miserably at holding back the tears entirely but managed to keep it together enough until he boarded the plane and they finally dimmed the cabin lights. Only then did he have to fight to muffle his sobs.


	13. Sapporo, Japan - 2016 NHK Trophy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m so glad you and that man finally got your shit together,” Chris said casually. “He has been pining for you since the final last year.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Just wanted to let you know that I've started a second YOI fic as a sort of side project for when Yuuri's (cough...my....) feelings become too much and I need a break from this fic but I still want to write. It's a ridiculous cheesy melodramatic spy AU based on a tv show I watched growing up. It's called [Intersect](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13504008/chapters/30970191). Feel free to check it out.

“I think something is wrong with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t know, it’s like—I don’t know,” Yuuri fumbled over his words, not sure how to force them out of his mouth.

“Is it a reoccurrence of any of the feelings, thoughts, or actions we’ve talked about in the past?” Yuuri’s therapist asked.

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“You know, Yuuri, I am only here to help you. Anything you can get out of your head right now, even if you think it sounds dumb or nonsensical or isn’t fully formed is fine.”

Yuuri sighed, pushing his chair back from the desk slightly and scrubbing his hands down his face. He was in his hotel room in Sapporo a few days before the NHK Trophy for the practice sessions and was skyping his therapist. He’d skipped the session two weeks ago because he was in Russia, and last week he’d wrapped himself up so much in training that he’d everything-is-fine-just-busy-ed his way through the session.

But since Yuuri had come back from Russia though, he’d felt on edge, but he didn’t know quite why. Well, he could theorize, but none of the theories seemed justified. It was beginning to eat away at him.

“I’m seeing someone,” Yuuri finally said.

“Oh? Anyone you’ve mentioned before?”

Yuuri nodded.

“Do you think you’re ready for a relationship right now?”

“Do you think I’m not?” Yuuri asked a little too defensively.

“I think in this case your opinion matters far more than mine. You know yourself Yuuri. Do you think a relationship is a good idea right now?”

Yuuri said nothing for a few moments.

“I don’t know. But I want to be. And I think, well he isn’t essentially patient, but I think I can trust him to give me time and support while I figure things out if I ask him to.”

He and Viktor had spoken a few times since he’d left Russia. Viktor had initiated pretty much all conversation, but the man texted him every morning and evening, which Yuuri knew took a bit of effort and coordination with the time changes. Yuuri tried to do the same back for Viktor, but he didn’t always.

It wasn’t that he forgot—he always remembered, but then he’d come up with a reason to put it off for what should have only been a couple minutes, but then it would be too long and Yuuri would convince himself it was too late. Then he’d spend more time trying to convince himself it wasn’t too late—and then it would definitely be too late.

Besides daily check in’s though, he hadn’t really spoken much to Viktor. Viktor had recommended setting up some time to skype, but it was just so challenging to coordinate their schedules. Viktor had called him one day, during what must have been the middle of the night in Russia. Something had sounded off about him—his voice was sunny as usual but Yuuri could tell the optimism and excitement was a bit forced.

He’d asked Viktor if everything was alright, and the man brushed him off. Yuuri had no idea how to get the other man to open up about his feelings. So he’d just let Viktor ramble away, as more unease settled over him.

“That sounds reasonable,” his therapist responded and Yuuri sighed. Could relationships be built on _reasonable_?

“And I mean, fourteen-year old’s date and stuff, and I turn twenty-three in a couple days. If I’m not ready for a relationship now, then when will I be? It—” Yuuri suddenly felt himself becoming emotional. “It wouldn’t be fair for me to have to give him up just because of—well everything. It wouldn’t be fair. Nothing is fair as it is, to ask me to give him up would be too much. If I can’t have him—well he’s all I’ve ever wanted. If I can’t have him I don’t want anything,” Yuuri’s voice sounded wrecked as he spoke, and he wished it didn’t.

“I’m not asking you to give him up. Clearly this idea though is weighing on you a lot—can you speak to it more? Not wanting anything is a very big statement to hang on one relationship.”

“It’s not like that,” Yuuri said quickly. “If we fall out normally, then I’m sure it will hurt me more than anything I’ve felt before. But I know people break up. I _know_ he might, probably will, decide one day he no longer wants me. I know a thousand things could get in the way and make being together just too hard. But I want to at least have a chance to get there. If I had to give it all up before even trying though, if you were going to prescribe to me that I must stop seeing him or else it will be detrimental to my mental health, that would be too hard for me. That would make me wonder—I’d wonder what the point of trying to get better is.”

“I never said ‘getting better’ would entail anything like that, Yuuri. I think your supposition that it might says a lot about your continued mistrust and misunderstanding of the process of therapy,” Yuuri’s therapist said frankly. “And does any of this have to do with what you feel is wrong with you?” she asked, bringing Yuuri back full circle.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve never been in a real relationship before. And certainly not one like this.”

“Like what?”

“Not…normal.”

“What isn’t normal about it?”

“That—you know. I mean, you know.”

“I’m not sure I do, Yuuri.”

“Well, he’s a man.”

“I was not under the impression that your sexuality was something you felt you were particularly struggling with from our previous conversations.”

“But that’s it—it hadn’t occurred to me.”

“What hadn’t occurred to you?”

Yuuri knew he was jumping around and leaving a lot unsaid, but he hoped he was saying enough.

“The implications. I mean obviously I knew, but it was still so abstract. I don’t think I’d ever thought about it seriously. I never expected—well I never expected anyone to like me at all like that.”

“Can you tell me about what implications you’re specifically referring to?”

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? You’d have to be living under a rock to not know.”

“I am more or less familiar with various struggles faced by LGBTQ people, Yuuri. I want to know exactly what  _you_ are specifically struggling with.”

“We have to hide it. Viktor is Russian, you know. And well, Japan is far better but still not essentially the _most_ forward thinking when it comes to things like _that_. I’ve never come out to the public. I could, probably, and maybe it wouldn’t destroy my career or put me in extreme harm, if I wanted to. But Viktor can’t, I don’t think. If he wants to skate for Russia, he can’t, I don’t think.”

Yuuri hadn’t done any extensive research recently on the subject of what repercussions Viktor might face if he were to come out explicitly as gay, he couldn’t bring himself to—maybe it was cowardly on some level, but he was worried it would hurt too much, be too real. But he’d seen enough in the news over the years, particularly around the Sochi Olympics a few years ago to have an idea.

When Viktor told Yuuri he pushed boundaries, that had made sense to Yuuri once he had time to think about it without the cloud of Viktor’s presence fogging his mind. Yuuri had for years tried to read queer subtext out of every little thing Viktor did—and there was a long and convincing list of evidence that Yuuri desperately clung to.

But Viktor had never confirmed anything, and Yuuri knew he likely never could.

“Do you want to be out to the public?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I never wanted to before. I tried not to think about it. But now I’m thinking about it. I think right now though, the part of me that wishes I wanted to or was brave enough to is bigger than before, but I still don’t in reality want to. But I’m also mad that I have to deal with any of this,” Yuuri clenched his hands into fists in his lap.

It wasn’t fair. Why did this have to be so hard. Love was already hard enough without having to deal with all of this.

“Okay,” was all his therapist said.

“Okay?” Yuuri snapped. “That’s all you have to say?”

He hadn’t intended to snap at his therapist, but wasn’t she supposed to help him? Wasn’t she supposed to make things better?

“Yuuri, you seem to be pretty aware of where you are right now and the options you have to change your circumstances—but it seems that what is weighing on you most right now is how big the undertakings to move forward from here would be.”

Yuuri felt himself deflating, the tension running out of him.

“I don’t want to have to move forward from here. I just want here to be the place I want to be. If there is a  _here_  there has to be a  _there_ —why can’t I be there already?”

His therapist only offered a sad smile and silence fell over them for a few minutes. Yuuri focused on the sound of his breath.

“So, I have two proposals for things you can do for next week—and I’d like for you to try to do them to the best of your ability. If it makes it easier for you, these things can just be for you, and I won’t expect you to share them with me—but of course we can talk through anything you want.”

Yuuri nodded hesitantly, waiting for her to proceed. He hated “proposals,” they were like homework—and Yuuri felt like his life was draining enough without  _homework_.

“I want you to decide what you think  _there_  would be for you, and then make a list of all the things that it would take to get there.”

“But what if  _there_ isn’t a place I can get?”

“I would like to hope there is a version of  _there_  that is attainable for you, but if you’d like you can make different lists for different theres. You can make drafts. You can scribble things out or light them on fire, for all it matters. It would be unrealistic for you to be able to come up with some sort of clean checklist—I just want you thinking about what you want and what your options are realistically to get there.”

Yuuri sighed.

“Okay. Okay, fine, I’ll try it.”

 

* * *

 

“Yuuri!” Phichit came bounding across the hotel lobby towards Yuuri, and then instantly wrapped himself around him. After the initial shock of his friend’s enthusiasm, Yuuri wrapped his arms tightly around his former rinkmate.

Phichit had arrived at the hotel early that morning, his flight from Detroit having been delayed because of some sort of freak early winter lake effect snow storm. When he’d finally arrived in Sapporo, he’d immediately texted Yuuri and scheduled for them to meet up for breakfast before practice sessions began later that day.

“It’s good to see you,” Yuuri muttered into his friend’s shoulder.

Just then another voice called out across the lobby—

“Oh my, is that Yuuri Katsuki?” a heavily accented voice sang out. Phichit and Yuuri both spun to see Christophe Giacometti strolling over to them. “And the lovely Phichit Chulanont. Aren’t I the luckiest man,” the Swiss man grinned flirtatiously.

“Hi Chris,” Yuuri said, managing to replace the blush that Chris’s mere presence usually caused with an eye roll.

“I have not seen you since last year, which I think is definitely a great tragedy!” Chris said, slinging his arms around Yuuri and Phichit’s shoulders.

Before he’d met Phichit, if Yuuri were forced at gunpoint to make a list of the other men’s figure skaters that Yuuri was closest too, Chris would have probably been at the top of the list. Yuuri hadn’t exactly considered them to be real friends, but they’d competed in Juniors together for a season before Chris went up to the senior level. Seventeen-year-old Chris had been almost as outgoing and flirtatious as twenty-four-year-old Chris was, and had seemed to get a lot of enjoyment out of teasing the young and terrified fifteen-year-old Yuuri.

Chris remained friendly with him throughout the rest of their careers whenever they crossed paths, but Yuuri had mostly ignored him.

But now, well, so much had changed and Yuuri realized that perhaps they were actually old friends, although not close ones.

“How have you been?” Yuuri asked the Swiss skater.

Chris’s eyes lit up.

“Oh I’ve been excellent, and I am even better now! We should all go catch up!”

“Yuuri and I were going to go out for breakfast,” Phichit offered.

“Great! I’m starving!”

The three of them made their way out of the hotel and to a nearby coffeehouse and ordered their meals. Phichit and Chris chatted animatedly and Yuuri tried to participate to the best of his ability, eager for a distraction.

Phichit was in the middle of showing Chris pictures of his hamsters when Yuuri’s phone vibrated with a text.

_Good morning Yuuri! Sorry I’m a bit late, Yakov was trying to make me dig my own grave with my blades in the ice :( What are you up to? Practice sessions are today, yes?_

Yuuri smiled. Yuuri may be romantically dysfunctional, but he did like Viktor a whole damn lot—and every text he got from the man gave him butterflies.

_Yup._

Yuuri sent back quickly.

 _Not til later though. I’m at breakfast with Phichit and Chris,_  he added.

_Oh! Tell them I said hello!_

Yuuri furrowed his brow.

_Am I allowed to?_

There was a pause, agonizingly long as the typing icon appeared and then disappeared, and nothing came.

Yuuri panicked.

_It’s just, I kind of already implied it to Phichit a while ago when I was still in Russia. And you know Chris better than I do. If I tell them you’re texting me, they’ll know we’re not just friends._

Quickly a message came back, and more followed it.

_Yuuri, please relax. I’m so sorry._

_You can tell them. Your family and friends can know._

_Of course they can know—I didn’t know you didn’t realize that. You haven’t told anyone?_

_With keeping it quiet I meant from the press and the public. I didn’t mean everyone._

_I’d never ask that. God, that would kill me if I couldn’t tell anyone._

_Chris already knows, anyway. I called him after you left._

Yuuri was dumbfounded. He hadn’t—he could?

“Yuuri, is everything alright?” Phichit asked.

Yuuri turned to realize that Phichit and Chris were now staring at him, their faces knit with worry.

Yuuri offered a cautious smile and made a decision.

“Yeah, it’s just Viktor.”

Another vibration.

_I like you a lot Yuuri, and I plan on telling everyone I can without jeopardizing our careers or our safety._

Yuuri’s smile grew as his heart fluttered.

Yuuri looked up again and found Phichit and Chris eagerly beaming at him.

“I’m so glad you and that man finally got your shit together,” Chris said casually. “He has been pining for you since the final last year.”

Yuuri and Phichit both spoke at the same time—

“What do you mean since the final?”

“You’re official! Yuuri, why didn’t you tell me?”

Chris’s smile was devious.

“Yeah, oddly enough he saw your short program and became obsessed with you. It was kind of embarrassing to watch,” he said responding to Yuuri.

“But, my short program was disastrous!” Yuuri gasped.

Chris only shrugged.

“And then you walked off the ice and disappeared and honestly I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had one of those walls like they do in crime movies with all the blurry security photos and pictures of evidence and string connecting it all. And then when the Yuuri on Ice video came out he called me in the middle of the night and made me listen to him analyze your performance of his program for over an hour.”

“What?” Yuuri squeaked.

“Wait, wait, wait, hold up—so Viktor is like actually in love with you in real life and you love him and you’re together?” Phichit asked.

“I mean, it’s been like two and a half weeks, we aren’t exactly using that word—” Yuuri began sheepishly but Phichit cut him off.

“Oh my god! I knew it! I knew you were destined to be together someday! But then you called me that night and I was like,  _holy fuck this boy has managed to royally fuck up and now he’s probably going to be an idiot and never talk to his one true love again out of embarrassment,_  and I spent like a week mourning that on your behalf and you’re telling me that all this time you’ve been together?” Phichit screeched.

“We were uh, keeping it quiet. And it’s a lot to process, you know?” Yuuri murmured, looking around the coffeehouse in embarrassment to find that thankfully it was pretty empty, and no one was staring at them.

Phichit grinned widely and seemed to vibrate in his seat and Chris just looked very pleased with himself.

Yuuri smiled nervously and took a sip of his tea.

“So how is sex with Viktor Nikiforov? I always wondered.”

Yuuri managed to abort a spit take only to end up choking.

“We haven’t!” he gasped.

Chris laughed.

“Relax Yuuri, I was only teasing. You’re such fun!”

Yuuri slunk down in his seat and realized he was pouting. He let out a huff and picked up his phone.

_Yeah, maybe telling Chris wasn’t the best idea._

The reply came after a moment.

_Oh, my poor Yuuri! If he gives you too much trouble just tell me and I’ll take care of it. If he knows you’re mine though he’s at least slightly less likely to molest you._

Yuuri sighed.

_Great._

 

* * *

 

Practice sessions went well. Things were going well overall, actually.

Being around Phichit and Chris and them knowing about his relationship with Viktor made Yuuri feel lighter. It made their relationship feel more real and valid. He and Viktor had continuously texted in the days leading up to the competition, and even spoke on the phone a couple times.

Viktor could be very sweet, and funny, and he was so easy for Yuuri to talk to. There were moments when he was closed off, but then so was Yuuri.

Yuuri hoped that maybe they could grow and learn to open up to each other together. That’s what relationships were about, right?

_Good luck today!!! <3 Yuri and I will be watching!!!_

Yuuri smiled at the text and he laced up his skates.

_Thank you! And whose idea was that btw?_

_He wouldn’t admit it, but Yuri basically insisted. He was all grumpy and i-just-wanna-make-sure-that-pig-doesn’t-flub-his-quad-sow but basically that angry child adores you :D <3 ;)_

_Haha, tell him I’ll be thinking of him as I do it._

_I thought you always thought of ME when you skated!!!!!!!!!??????!!!!!!!!_

_You’ll get the other 2 minutes and 45 seconds, don’t worry._

Yuuri only got a string of emojis in response.

Yuuri pocketed his phone and made his way out to the rink with Kanako for warm up.

And that was the moment everything went wrong. Yuuri was walking around the rink when someone in the stands caught his eye. He could only see their back, but they had broad, square shoulders and short buzz cut hair, and something about the way they stood seemed too familiar.

Yuuri should have known they could have been anyone, that those features were not enough to even put together a decent line up. But all Yuuri could do was think about the fact that he suddenly couldn’t breathe.

Yuuri’s hand flew to his chest and he took a shallow, wheezing breath and stumbled backwards into the boards and then sank to the ground and curled in on himself.

“Oh my god! Yuuri!” he heard someone, probably Kanako, exclaim, but Yuuri was too busy being sucked inside his mind.

Had the man followed him here? What did he want from Yuuri? Hadn’t he taken enough?

He’d never—he’d never thought that this could happen.

Okay, so he had. He definitely had. But then nothing had happened at the qualifier. And then there was no way someone was going to follow him all the way to Russia. That man was a creep. He wasn’t a good person. But assaulting some drunk person in a club bathroom and stalking an internationally ranked figure skater to a foreign country were vastly different levels of creepiness.

And so he’d almost forgotten about the paranoia of that man coming back into his life. Because again, assaulting some drunk person in a club bathroom and stalking someone were different crimes, and the fact that that man had done the first did not mean he’d do the second, Yuuri had convinced himself after two competitions with no sign of him or anyone like him.

 _I mean, except Viktor,_ Yuuri thought. _But that is totally different. Viktor clearly has no intention of making you do anything you don’t want to do, and you stalked him right back._

But then the man from the club had known who Yuuri was. Maybe he was a fan of figure skating. Maybe he came to Japanese figure skating competitions all the time, even before he’d ever met Yuuri.

Or maybe that was just the excuse he’d make when he’d corner Yuuri and threaten to take things from him again.

“Yuuri, please can you look at me? Please Yuuri. It’s okay. You’re alright,” he heard a voice—Kanako?—soothing.

“What’s wrong with him? Is he okay?” another panicked voice—Chris?

And then another person just made shushing noises in his ear.

Slowly, Yuuri unfolded to see Kanako, Phichit, and Chris surrounding him, a couple medics standing behind them.

Yuuri tried to take a breath and wound up gasping.

“Give him some space!” one of the medics shouted, and the trio that was surrounding him flew backwards like shrapnel.

The medic took a slow step forwards and held out a water bottle to Yuuri. With shaking hands Yuuri grabbed it and took a small sip.

“Are you alright?” the medic asked softly.

Yuuri nodded.

“Can you tell me what happened?” they asked.

Yuuri looked back to where the man who he had thought was _the_ man had been standing, but the person was gone.

“I—I just had a flashback,” Yuuri said. It was technically a lie, but it was close enough to the truth without having to divulge specific details that Yuuri didn’t want to give.

 _I thought I saw the man who sexually assaulted me last year and tried to do it again less than six months ago_ , was too hard a thing to say to anyone, none the less a stranger.

He heard a gasp, and he looked up to see Phichit with his eyes wide and his hand covering his mouth. Kanako and Chris both looked troubled as well.

None of them knew. Kanako knew a little, but the number of people who knew how badly Yuuri had been hurting those months of his absence was incredibly small. Only his therapist knew the real details, and still it had taken months before they’d really talked about all of it—Yuuri had been so ashamed to admit any of it.

Yuuri didn’t know for sure, but most of the world, and most of the people who knew him had probably imagined Yuuri had spent those months wallowing. What he’d really done would seem so out of character they might not even believe it.

Well, maybe Phichit might. He’d seen drunk Yuuri before, at least.

And now they knew. Well they didn’t really know. But they knew that Yuuri was hiding something. They knew that he was in some way or another…traumatized. And that was a tough pill for Yuuri to swallow.

He’d imagined, maybe telling some people the truth someday, but he imagined that point being years down the road.

“I’m fine,” Yuuri assured, his voice a little too defensive. “I’d like to get out on the ice and warm up.”

“Can I do a quick physical first? I want to check your pulse and your blood pressure,” the medic asked.

Yuuri shrugged, moving to push himself up from the ground and following the medic off. Kanako followed behind him, Chris and Phichit didn’t. He didn’t know what stopped them, something probably had, but he didn’t care. Yuuri just wanted to get out on the ice.

The medic cleared him, and Yuuri went out on the ice for warm up. He quickly threw himself into the movement. He ran through his step sequences, found the space on the rink to practice a triple axel, and did his best to shut out the rest of the world.

Too soon though the warm up was over and Yuuri had to go back to waiting. Thankfully today he wasn’t first or last, and instead he went fifth, one after Phichit and two before Chris

Yuuri sat down next to the ice and waited for his competitors to one by one take the ice. Not that he had any interest in watching. He decided instead to put on his headphones and turn on his pre-competition jitters playlist.

That was a mistake though, because when he took out his phone, he found it blown up with notifications.

There were dozens of texts from Viktor.

_oh my god, yuuri_

_yuuri, are you okay_

_yuuri, what happened?_

_oh my god yuuri please just tell me you’re okay_

_yuuri please be okay_

They had broadcast Yuuri’s panic attack.

Oh my god.

Yuuri had had a panic attack in front of thousands of people in the arena. Yuuri had had a panic attack in front of tens of thousands of people across the world.

This couldn’t be happening.

But then, he supposed, it already did.

He’d been so focused on blocking the world out after his panic attack, he’d forgotten where he was.

How had he forgotten where he was?

He hadn’t seen any cameras, but he hadn’t been looking too hard. And of course there were the aerial cameras that shot the rink, he wouldn’t have been able to see those for them to still be there, witnessing him melt down.

There was a tap on his knee. Yuuri jerked his head up to look at Kanako, terrified she was going to try and get him to talk.

“Phichit is up, Yuuri.”

That grounded him for a second.

Oh. Okay. He did want to watch Phichit. He’d promised himself that he’d be more supportive of his friend this season to make up for how terrible a friend he was last season. He needed to support Phichit today, no matter how he was feeling.

Yuuri slid off his headphones and turned his attention towards the ice.

And Yuuri was glad he did.

Phichit’s performance was so joyful and fun. His energy was infectious as he took off like a firecracker across the rink. He even got the audience clapping along with the music, and Yuuri joined them, albeit a little softly, a small smile taking his face. This performance was one of the best he’d ever seen from Phichit. It wasn’t flawless. It still technically couldn’t stand up against Chris and Yuuri’s programs, but it was wonderful none the less, and Phichit skated it cleanly.

When Phichit finished, Yuuri found himself rising to his feet and applauding his friend slowly, face full of awe.

Yuuri waited with baited breath for Phichit’s scores, and gasped when he found that the other skater had beaten his personal best and was at least for the moment at the top of the score board. Only a few people had gone before him, and Yuuri knew that unfortunately it was highly unlikely for him to stay there—but none the less he was so proud of his friend.

Yuuri wanted to go congratulate his friend, but then he remembered that it was his turn to take the ice and all the life that Phichit had given him drained away instantly.

“Listen Yuuri, I know it’s been a rough morning, but you have got this. Okay? You can skate this routine in your sleep, do you understand me?” he heard Kanako encouraging him.

Yuuri could only stare ahead and blink.

“Yuuri look at me.”

Yuuri didn’t.

But he did know what he had to do.

Yuuri reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone, quickly unlocking it and finding the right contact. He pressed call and held the phone to his ear.

“Yuuri!” a panicked sounding voice answered after the first ring.

“Hi,” Yuuri said softly.

“Are you okay? I saw on television, god I was terrified. The commentators at first only said there was an incident and then they mentioned you. And then they said you’d gone down, which never seemed like a vague phrase until today, and—” Yuuri cut him off.

“I’m fine, Viktor,” Yuuri assured, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears.

“I thought you’d been seriously hurt Yuuri! I was terrified! I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

Yuuri sighed.

“Can you put Yuri on the phone?” he asked.

That stopped Viktor in his tracks.

“What?”

“I’m kidding.”

“Oh. I mean, if you wanted to talk to him you could. He was just as scared as I was.”

Yuuri thought he heard Yuri yelling defensively in the background, and then Viktor said something in slightly muffled sounding Russian, and Yuuri couldn’t help but smile.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“I—” Yuuri stuttered, trying to figure out how to answer that himself.

_For being so wonderful. For being so you. For caring about me. For still taking the time out of fretting over me to argue with Yuri._

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he said instead.

“Oh,” Viktor gasped softly.

There was silence for a few seconds, and Kanako tapped on his shoulder. He probably needed to make his way onto the ice.

“I have to go. I’ll—can I call you tonight?”

“Of course,” Viktor said instantly. “Always. Good luck Yuuri. And just know—just know that you could fall on your ass and you’d still be the most beautiful and talented skater there. I know who you are and what you can do, Yuuri, and no single performance will ever change that.”

Now it was Yuuri’s turn to gasp.

“I—” Yuuri stuttered, but then he heard Kanako whisper his name in his ear urgently.

“I have to go,” Yuuri said.

“I’ll be thinking of you. Will you think of me?”

Yuuri’s breath caught.

“Always,” Yuuri said before he hung up the phone.

Yuuri walked over to the mouth of the rink and took off his jacket and his guards, handing them to Kanako. He took the few last moments he had to stretch himself out a bit. Then he stepped out onto the ice to wait for his name to be called.

_Ready or not, here I am._


	14. Sapporo, Japan - 2016 NHK Trophy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s nearly 10 o’clock Yuuri!” she exclaimed before coming to a standstill as she caught sight of Chris and Phichit, along with several plush hamsters, tangled up in Yuuri’s bed.
> 
> “What the—” she started, but then stopped and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You know what, I don’t even want to know. I’ll let their coaches deal with this, I do not get paid enough for this,” she said, taking out her phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry for the delay. I know it's been nearly a month-- but finally a new chapter for you! And it's extra long too.
> 
> Also, I've done a full edit to this story. I haven't changed anything that you'll notice going forward, (probably) so there is no need to feel like you need to reread or anything. Most of the editing was making a list ditch effort to remove typos, cleaning up some continuity errors, and some small edits to help characterization-- i.e. changes that will improve the experience of future readers but that if you have made it this far you are all set to proceed. (Of course if you WANT to reread for some reason I'm not going to stop you.)
> 
> The only major change I'm going to let you know about is that this story now has an actual timeline and ages of characters are shifted a bit because I am bad at math and Wikipedia lied to me and whatever it's fixed now. A full rundown of major characters ages is in the end notes.

Yuuri flubbed the quad salchow.

Okay, it wasn’t that bad.

But he spun out of the landing.

All that work they’d done to teach him to control his movements, gone to waste.

Okay, not gone to waste. He hadn’t even touched down on the ice. He’d still definitely earned a solid handful more points than if he’d managed to land the bed triple salchow in the history of triple salchows.

And, now he officially had four ratified quads.

Yuuri had decided to upgrade his salchow to a quad in the short program at the NHK Trophy, worried that if he saved it as a last-ditch effort to maximize points at the final, the chances that he’d get so nervous he wouldn’t be able to perform it would increase exponentially. Now all he had left to ratify was the loop, and that would be easy to throw in at some point in the future. It was the salchow that was his Achilles heel.

So he’d included it now.

And now this.

Yuri was going to be pissed.

He could picture the young Russian screaming at the television screen while Viktor sat beside him, his hand covering his mouth and eyes wide with worry and then inevitably still with pride despite Yuuri’s failure.

They could both be so overdramatic, really.

And then because he was so angry at himself for not landing the quad, the rest of his performance lost some of the oomph that it had at the Rostelecom Cup. It wasn’t a bad performance, but his scores across the board were just a little bit lower.

And it meant that he’d ended up behind Chris after the short program.

It wasn’t a big difference. He could still so easily pull back in the free skate. The difference was bigger this time than it had been between him and Georgi at the last competition, over five points.

But still. There was no reason he couldn’t make that up.

“Yuuri!” Phichit called and ran toward him, pushing through a small crowd of other skaters and their coaches to where Yuuri had been standing with Kanako debriefing following his skate. “You were amazing!”

“It wasn’t as good as the last time I skated it,” Yuuri murmured.

Phichit looked at him with his brow knit with worry.

“Yuuri, it doesn’t need to be your best performance of it every single time you skate it,” Phichit said.

But that had been Yuuri’s goal, hadn’t it? To just keep going up and up and up until he finally stood a chance at beating Viktor at the Grand Prix final, and then maybe just maybe even at the World Championships.

He found that the emotions that he’d manage to mostly shove off right before the performance were bleeding back.  _God, why am I so weak?_

Yuuri’s breath caught in his throat as everything started weighing down on him again.

Was that man still here? Was he in the audience still? Was he satisfied that he’d made Yuuri screw up? Was he pleased that the whole world had seen Yuuri melt down—had seen him for who he really was?

Or was he not even there at all? Had Yuuri’s mind just tricked him, intent of never letting Yuuri have the success he so deeply yearned for?

“Woah there—Yuuri?” he heard a voice speaking to him and he looked up to see Phichit still there. He hadn’t realized he’d begun to curl in on himself.

Yuuri just stared at his friend, not remotely sure what he should possibly say. Phichit just stared back.

“Yuuri, do you want to get out of here?” Phichit offered suddenly.

That struck Yuuri off guard.

“But, but—there are still another few skaters left.”

“So? It’s not the free skate, there’s no podium you’ll need to stand on. Maybe some press, but I don’t think the media needs to see any more of you today.”

That Yuuri could agree on. He’d probably have to give a statement about his anxiety attack at some point, but that day did not have to be today.

“Oh, alright.”

Phichit’s face lit up just a bit.

“Great, come on let’s go get changed.”

Yuuri and Phichit were headed to the changing room when they caught sight of Chris making his way towards them.

“Yuuri, you skated beautifully,” he said.

“Phichit skated well too,” Yuuri deflected.

“Of course he did, but I believe the correct response is ‘Oh, but Chris, I could never skate as beautifully as you!’ or at the very least ‘Watch out because I’m going to end up on top tomorrow!’ to which I would say, ‘I’m not sure if Viktor would approve of that, but who am I to deny such beauty?’”

Yuuri only blinked at Chris.

“We’d love to chat, but Yuuri and I were actually just about to leave,” Phichit said, thankfully.

“Oh?”

Yuuri stared at his feet.

“Do you want to come?” he asked, forcing himself to look up at the Swiss man.

Chris’s eyes widened slightly, and Yuuri watched as he shot a glance at Phichit.

“I don’t want to impose,” he responded, his voice unsure and lacking all it’s trademark flirtatiousness.

“No—I’d like you to come. I’d like both of you to come,” Yuuri found himself saying after a deep breath.

“Then I’d be delighted,” Chris said with a smile and Yuuri turned up the right side of his mouth in a half smile and shifted his weight to the other foot nervously.

“Alright, well let’s get going then!” Phichit said, linking one of his arms through Yuuri’s and the other through Chris’s and dragging them behind him out of the arena.

 

* * *

 

They sat in Yuuri’s hotel room, leaning shoulder to shoulder beside each other against the head board of Yuuri’s bed with a spread of take out laid out before them.

It turned out to be in many ways just what Yuuri needed. Chris and Phichit were a great distraction—both full of energy and optimism. The laughed and joked and teased and Yuuri was able to forget so easily.

“So, Chris, do you have any good Viktor stories to give our little Yuuri here future blackmail?” Phichit asked.

“Phichit, I’m three whole inches taller than you,” Yuuri defended.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t still small,” Phichit defended but Yuuri looked at him skeptically.

“Oh, I have so many stories. So, so many stories. Viktor, wow, a lot of the times, you know, Viktor is not at all like the person he pretends to be to the world, but in the moments that he is, that man is an enigma. An incredibly hot enigma,” Chris said with a suggestive eyebrow waggle, pulling Yuuri and Phichit out of their friendly squabble.

“Oh?” Phichit prodded.

“Yes, definitely,” Chris stated with a mischievous grin. “Unfortunately, my lips are sealed.”

“What?” Phichit gasped, “Tease! Can you believe what a tease this man is Yuuri?” Phichit asked, bumping his shoulder against Yuuri’s.

Yuuri froze awkwardly at the word choice.

“Come on,” Phichit pushed, “You have to tell us something! Someone has managed to steal my poor Yuuri’s heart and I know practically nothing about him.”

“I’m sure you know plenty about him,” Chris reassured.

“Only what Yuuri, aka the walking Viktor encyclopedia has told me. But I’m still operating with the 2015 edition since apparently someone has been too busy doing in person research to keep me updated.”

“Well I hate to break it to you, but 2016 Viktor Nikiforov was mostly too busy pining for his researcher to be very interesting. Wouldn’t even properly go out with me after Worlds. Made it to the first club and half an hour in I found him embarrassingly drunk and crying to the bartender about how the only person he wants to dance with ran away and is hiding on the other side of the world just to get away from him!” Chris revealed.

Yuuri gaped.

“What?” Yuuri squawked. “I wasn’t hiding to get away from Viktor, why would he think that? I wasn’t even hiding at all!”

“Yuuri, I’ll give you the not hiding from Viktor _specifically_ thing, but you didn’t answer my texts for months. I had to pack up all your stuff and send it to you because you didn’t even come back to Detroit—Yuuri you ran and you ran fast and then you hid like your life depended on it,” Phichit said.

Yuuri paled.

“Celestino almost filed a missing person’s report. Thankfully Minako got in touch with him once you arrived back in Japan and let us know you hadn’t been kidnapped by the Spanish Mafia or something,” Phichit continued.

“He what?” Yuuri murmured, feeling ill.

“You were the most exciting scandal to happen in the skating community since the whole Tonya Harding thing,” Chris added, rather unhelpfully Yuuri thought.

“I retired! After I disgraced the sport of figure skating! What is so exciting about that?” Yuuri defended.

“You retired?” Chris asked.

Oh no, not this again. Yuuri looked at Phichit. Phichit had known that Yuuri had fully intended to retire.

But as Yuuri looked at his old rinkmate, he found that the other man looked sadder than before.

Okay, maybe he didn’t.

“Yes, I meant to anyway. Or maybe retire is too formal of a world, but I quit.”

“So you weren’t off training with some super coach with the JSF to become a figure skating robot programmed to take over Russia?” Chris asked.

“What?”

“That was the favored theory on the internet forums after you returned from only six months away with three additional quads,” Phichit supplied.

“No!” Yuuri defended quickly. “I didn’t even skate for two months, and even then, I was just being an idiot running Viktor’s old programs drunk at three in the morning after breaking into Ice Castle. It wasn’t until I by luck, accident, and miracle landed the quad flip after two months of that that I started training the other quads more seriously,” Yuuri muttered.

Then he realized the crushing silence.

_Fuck._

Chris was the one to break it.

“What?” his voice was just a little dangerous, and Yuuri flinched.

Yuuri was quickly learning that other skaters were rarely particularly thrilled when he revealed that he trained his quads alone. Adding that he was inebriated didn’t help. Saying something like that to other skaters, well, it was basically the equivalent of confessing that you’re suicidal.

Yuuri open and closed his mouth like a fish.

“I knew you had a rough few months Yuuri, but that’s, Yuuri! Are you okay?”

“Is—is that what happened today?” Chris asked, suddenly, before Yuuri could consider responding to Phichit. “Some sort of… relapse or something?”

“What? No,” Yuuri defended instantly. “I mean, sort of, but—it’s… complicated.”

This was such a mess. Things had been going so well, and now he was being interrogated. He hated being interrogated. Yuuri had been appreciative of the gesture— of Phichit and Chris extending olive branches of friendship and being there for him. But now it was all building up.

He let people in, and now they were holding him accountable for his actions. It had been his worst fear, and why he kept people out for so long. Yuuri took a slow breath and balled his fists in his lap.

 _Be vulnerable with people that are close to you_ , the mantra echoed in his head.

This was a big step, though. One he hadn’t taken before. Before vulnerability was hinting—it was saying everything but the truth. But Phichit and Chris already has assumed at this point as much as Yuuri could tell them without saying anything.

If he told them they could watch out for him, just in case that man really was here and had ill intentions towards him and Yuuri found himself in his worst nightmare.

But moreover, if he told them, then someone would know. It wouldn’t be another secret he was carrying around. Carrying around his relationship with Viktor as a secret for only two weeks had begun to feel devastating. How much weight was this secret pressing down on him? This secret that Yuuri had been carrying for long enough now he’d grown so used to carrying it he couldn’t even guess its weight.

“Yuuri,” he heard Phichit ask. “Did you—when you drink—do you still have problems with your memory?”

At the comment from his old friend, someone who knew him better than most other people in the world, it was like a damn broke behind his eyes.

“Oh my god, Yuuri, hey!” Phichit gasped. In an instant he felt arms wrap around him and Phichit made shushing noises while rubbing his back.

It was an unfortunately familiar thing. Yuuri’s anxiety felt older than dirt sometimes and while he liked to pretend it wasn’t consistently so terrible, he couldn’t remember not having it. And by living with Yuuri for several years, Phichit had had to bear witness to some of the worst of it. Yuuri had tried to hide it most of the time, but sometimes he couldn’t, and they’d ended up like they were right now.

“I’m so—” Yuuri gasped, “Tired of crying!”

He rubbed furiously at his eyes like he could just plug up the leaks with a bit of pressure.

It by some miracle seemed to work. After a few minutes, Yuuri sat cross legged on the bed, hunched forwards so his elbows rested on his thighs, only occasionally sniffing and wiping at his face. Phichit and Chris still sat on either side of him, Phichit holding onto him tightly while Chris rested a hand lightly on his shoulder.

“I worked out my tolerance pretty quickly,” Yuuri responded after a deep breath, “When I started drinking a lot after I came back to Hasetsu. I wanted a distraction but being black out in a seedy club was too much for me even in the headspace I was at the time. I only got blackout a couple times, but apparently, it was enough,” Yuuri whispered, still looking down into his lap.

“The night the ‘Yuri on Ice’ video was taken was the night I ran into someone who seemed to know me even though I didn’t remember him. He told me that we had done things, things that I definitely wouldn’t have done if I had any semblance of control over myself. And he wanted me to do them again— he would have tried to make me again.”

Yuuri paused for a moment, waiting to see if Chris or Phichit would respond, if they would gasp or tense or anything, but instead they stayed absolutely still and quiet. Yuuri kept going.

“I thought he was lying, but he knew who I was. And the timeline was right. Nothing happened again, I ran away and went to skate like I’d been doing most nights at that point, thus the video. But I still don’t remember what happened. I imagine it all the time—I dream about it sometimes, but I don’t _know_. Maybe he was lying, and nothing happened. Maybe it was worse than he let on before I got away. I don’t know. I’ll probably never know for sure.

“I freaked out today, though, because I thought I saw him. It probably wasn’t even him. I only saw him from behind. It could have been anyone. But something set me off, and I thought, I thought I just knew it was him. I thought he’d tracked me down, that there was more he still wanted to take from me. He’s probably not even here. I’ve been in therapy for months and so much else in my life has gotten better, but all it takes is some guy with a similar build and haircut and I melt down, apparently,” Yuuri sighed, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. “It’s just so frustrating.”

Yuuri finished and for a few moments the silence remained. Then there was a sniff. Yuuri turned to see that Phichit had tears streaming down his face.

“Oh, Yuuri,” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s—it’s okay, Phichit. I’m okay. I just—I wanted you to know.” He turned to look at Chris, who seemed to still be frozen. “I wanted both of you to know. I haven’t—I haven’t told anyone but my therapist, but I think it’s time for me to stop carrying secrets. They’re too heavy, you know?” Yuuri turned back to face ahead and offered the smallest smile to no one in particular.

“Does Viktor know?” Chris asked, finally breaking his silence.

Yuuri turned back quickly to look at him again.

“No. Not the details. Not yet,” he said quickly. “We’ve only just stopped being such a massive disaster, and we only had so much time, and I just—I wasn’t ready yet.”

Chris nodded, looking pensive.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s alright,” Yuuri repeated.

“No, I mean, I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable. I know I can be very much sometimes,” he said. “I—it’s in good fun, I don’t mean anything with it. But if to you it wasn’t, and if I ignored that, then I’m sorry.”

“No, Chris, it’s fine. I always knew you were teasing.”

“No, I shouldn’t—it’s not funny. It’s not teasing when you always looked so uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

Yuuri opened his mouth to continue to protest, but instead all that came out was, “I forgive you.”

He watched as Chris nodded resolutely. Then, at a loud sniff, Yuuri turned back to Phichit.

“Phichit?” Yuuri asked, scrunching up his face awkwardly in a look that was more uncomfortable than the sympathy he was going for. “Are you going to be okay?”

Phichit let out another sob and buried his face in Yuuri’s shoulder.

“I just love you so much, Yuuri, you’re my best friend! And to think—I could have—there had to have been—” Phichit stuttered between sobs.

Yuuri hesitantly patted Phichit on the back.

“There isn’t anything you could have done. Like you said, I worked really hard to run away and hide. I shut everyone out.”

Phichit sobbed again and Yuuri looked back at Chris, who shrugged sympathetically.

Yuuri sighed and continued making awkward pats on his friends back, wishing he were better at this.

“Wait!”  Phichit announced suddenly, looking up with suddenly bright eyes. “I know what will make everything better!”

With that he detached himself from Yuuri and sprung up from the bed.

“Well, it won’t fix everything, but it will certainly at least help. Wait here!” he called as he ran out of the room.

Yuuri turned back to look at Chris, who was watching him with just a hint of amusement.

Yuuri raised his eyebrows at him in curiosity.

“You and Viktor are a lot alike in your complete inability to provide comfort to others.”

Yuuri let out a choked laugh.

“I know, we’re quite a pair,” Yuuri shook his head.

“So what do you think he’s getting?”

“Knowing Phichit, there is really only one thing that he could possibly believe would fix everything. Okay, two, but we don’t have a DVD player.”

“What?” Chris asked, but just then, Phichit came bursting into the room carrying a backpack behind him.

“Phichit Chulanont’s Make-Everything-Better Kit has arrived!” he announced as he plopped the bag down on the bed and unzipped it. “First, everyone gets a hamster,” Phichit announced, pulling out a variety of hamster plushies out of the bag. “It is important that you pick the one that speaks to you,” Phichit said absolutely seriously. “Yuuri obviously gets to pick first.”

Yuuri smiled fondly at his friend and looked down at the familiar ensemble for stuffed hamster toys.

“I mean, I do love Arthur, obviously. And Stuart is pretty great too. But I think I’m going to go with Hamutarō. I still can’t believe he meets the standards of your international travel brigade,” Yuuri said.

“Of course he does!” Phichit proclaimed at the same moment Chris asked, “They all have names?”

“Yes, of course they do!” Phichit cried again.

“Some of them, like Arthur and Stuart, are based on Phichit’s real hamsters. Hamutarō, though, I gave to Phichit as a gift several years ago though, assuming he already knew about the hamster themed manga,” Yuuri elaborated.

“I did not, and it changed my life, obviously.”

“Where do Arthur and Stuart come from then?” Chris asked and Yuuri drew in a deep breath as Phichit opened his mouth.

“Which leads me into part two of Phichit Chulanont’s Make-Everything-Better-Kit, drumroll please!”

Neither Yuuri nor Chris complied to Phichit’s request.

“ _The King and the Skater_!” he announced as he pulled out his laptop.

“Ugh, I forgot everything is digital now,” Yuuri groaned.

“I certainly didn’t, I don’t know how I could fall asleep at night without  _The King and the Skater_  playing in the background.”

“ _The King and the Skater_?” Chris asked, Yuuri took another deep inhale and braced himself, and Phichit gasped.

“You have never seen The King and the Skater? What are you, straight? Actually not a figure skater at all?”

“He’s not Asian, Phich. Or best friends with you,” Yuuri supplied.

Phichit seemed to accept this.

“Well, I mean, we were just gonna watch it to help make Yuuri feel better, but now that I know we have a _King and the Skater_ virgin on our hands…”

“I cannot remember the last time someone referred to me as a virgin,” Chris stated, seeming still to have not come to terms with what was happening.

Yuuri couldn’t blame him—when Phichit was on a _The King and the Skater_ tear, it was a tsunami of trivia, sing-alongs, and queer subtext analysis. Nothing could ever prepare someone for it.

Well, perhaps one thing could—having already seen  _The King and the Skater_ with Phichit exactly 82 times before (Yuuri kept count).

After the initial shock wore off though, Chris seemed to take it in stride, and by the end of the film was desperately clutching Stuart the stuffed hamster and crying with Phichit while they sang along to the ending theme.

Yuuri shook his head fondly at his two friends picked up Phichit’s phone and snapped a picture of the two of them for Phichit to post online later and smiled.

Perhaps one might question Phichit’s decisions to use other their own favorite things to cheer other people up, but Phichit had enough enthusiasm to make up for it.

Yuuri sighed as Phichit switched over the  _The King and the Skater II_ , listening to his best friend brief Chris on his opinions on the sequel while the opening credits began to play. Yuuri snuggled down in the bed, checking out a bit as he clutched Hamutarō against his chest and eventually fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri woke up the next morning to the sound of pounding at the door.

He groaned and rolled over, only to find himself knocking into another body.

“Viktor?” Yuuri grumbled, blinking his bleary eyes and rolling the other direction to go in search of his glasses, only to find himself walled in by a second body.

_What?_

Yuuri sat straight up in bed to see the slightly out of focus forms of Chris and Phichit, both splayed out, all limbs and blankets tangled. Why on earth they hadn’t gone back to their own room last night Yuuri could only guess.

How on earth they were sleeping through the pounding at the door was another modern mystery.

Yuuri crawled off the end of the bed, nearly tripping over Phichit’s legs, and made his way to the door and quickly opened it.

“Oh my God, Yuuri, what the hell?” Kanako said as she barged into the room. “I’ve been trying to track you down all morning. You were supposed to meet me at breakfast an hour ago!”

“What? What time is it?” Yuuri asked.

“It’s nearly 10 o’clock Yuuri!" she exclaimed before coming to a standstill as she caught sight of Chris and Phichit, along with several plush hamsters, tangled up in Yuuri’s bed.

“What the—” she started, but then stopped and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You know what, I don’t even want to know. I’ll let their coaches deal with this, I do not get paid enough for this,” she said, taking out her phone. “I go through all the trouble of arranging this surprise and instead I find the entire future 2016 NHK Trophy podium trio in bed together after a night of doing God knows what,” she muttered.

Yuuri blushed.

“It’s nothing like that!” he exclaimed.

How the fuck had Chris and Phichit not woken up yet?

Kanako soon took care of that, though, going over to the bed and giving Chris and Phichit each a hard shove.

“Alright everyone, up and at ‘em!”

“What?” Phichit said, “Five more minutes,” he muttered, rolling over, while Chris only muttered something in some strange mix of European languages Yuuri couldn’t identify.

“Your respective coaches are expecting you to meet them in the lobby in fifteen minutes. I will not be responsible for their actions if you do not get out of bed this instant,” Kanako announced.

Phichit sat up in bed immediately.

“What? What time is it?”

“After 10, apparently,” Yuuri supplied as he finally spotted his glasses on the nightstand and went to grab them. “Why didn’t you and Chris leave last night?”

“We were, um, protecting you?”

The sentiment was sweet, although it actually hadn’t even occurred to Yuuri, surprisingly, to be too afraid of a man who probably wasn’t even there breaking into his room amid all the lesser drama of Chris and Phichit the night before.

They had been a rather excellent distraction, in the end.

“And you couldn’t have at least set an alarm?”

“We forgot?” Phichit grimaced sympathetically.

Kanako clicked her tongue and Yuuri sighed.

“Get out of here Phichit, before Ciao-Ciao kills you,” Yuuri said. “And try and step on Chris on your way out.”

Phichit did as told, quickly gathering up his hamsters and his laptop and stuffing them into his backpack, and then hopping across the bed, right on top of Chris who let out a pained groan, and then ran out the door.

“Chris,” Yuuri called. “Chris, you’re never going to steal gold away from me if you sleep through the competition.”

“Watch me, darling,” Chris muttered, throwing a pillow over his head.

“Leave him, Yuuri, Josef is on his way up. Grab your things, you’re going to have to shower after the practice session.”

Yuuri sighed and quickly grabbed some of his training clothes and hurried into the bathroom to change and at least brush his teeth and run a comb through his hair before emerging less than five minutes later. Kanako stood by the door with the bag with Yuuri’s skates already in hand.

“Alright, come along,” she said, pushing open the front door just as a furious looking older man that Yuuri knew to be Chris’s coach barged through the door, brushing past them.

“Out you go,” Kanako directed, giving Yuuri a push out the door, which clicked shut to muffle the sounds of furious yelling that erupted behind them.

“So do I want to know this morning what exactly Chris and Phichit were protecting you from?” Kanako asked as they walked down the hall toward the elevator.

“Um,” Yuuri took a deep breath, “I thought I might have seen a man who sexually assaulted me earlier this year in the stands yesterday, but I was probably mistaken,” he admitted quickly.

Kanako stopped dead in her tracks. Yuuri watched as she closed her eyes and let out a slow exhale. Then she turned to face him, reaching and arm out to lay a hand on her shoulder.

“We’re running late and my surprise for you is already going to have to be ruined, so I don’t want you to think I’m dismissing this, but we just frankly don’t have time to deal with this this morning,” she said somberly.

“It’s alright,” Yuuri assured. “There’s nothing to deal with. I just wanted to tell you.”

“Alright. Okay,” she said. “If it turns out you were not mistaken, you will let me know immediately, alright?”

“Alright,” Yuuri nodded. “Why do you keep mentioning a surprise?”

“Come see,” Kanako said with a smile, ushering Yuuri into the elevator and then a few moments later into the lobby.

“We were supposed to all have breakfast together, but that’s scrapped now. You’ve only got enough time to say hello, and we’ll still be five minutes late.”

“Say hello to who?” Yuuri asked, but then he saw them—his mother and father, standing together in the lobby.

His mother laid eyes on him first.

“Yuuri!” she called and ran forward to meet him as if she hadn’t seen him in ages even though he’d only said goodbye to leave to fly to Sapporo just three days ago.

Yuuri still met her half way and let himself be wrapped in her embrace. She was his mother after all.

“What are you guys doing here?” Yuuri asked after giving his mother a long hug.

“Your coach arranged for us to fly up to see you compete today. Mari is taking care of the inn,” his father said.

“You’ll see my free program?” Yuuri asked slightly rhetorically.

His parents hadn’t attended one of Yuuri’s competitions in years. They had tried to come when Yuuri first started competing years ago as often as they could, but over the years, the competitions that were close enough for Yuuri’s parents to consider coming to didn’t seem worthwhile in Yuuri’s mind to ask them to have to leave the hot springs for the weekend and have to hire extra help. They probably would have come, still, if he asked, but Yuuri insisted they didn’t. And then the big competitions were usually half way across the world, and way more of an undertaking than his parents could afford.

So instead his parents religiously hosted viewing parties among the neighbors and guests of the resort.

The last competition they attended in person might have been his senior national debut a few years ago.

Yuuri heard Kanako cough and Yuuri sighed, stepping away from his parents.

“I have to get to the practice session, but we can do lunch?” Yuuri asked, looking to Kanako to confirm his schedule. She nodded, and then pointed at her watch.

Yuuri fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Okay, I’ll see you later,” Yuuri said and gave his mother one last quick hug.

“Good luck!” his mother called after him as Yuuri walked away. “We love you!”

Despite the rough start to the morning, Yuuri couldn’t help but feel so light he could have been weightless.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri stood with his parents outside the entrance to the athletes only part of the arena. After the practice session and Yuuri had had a chance to go back to the hotel and properly get ready for the day, Yuuri had gone to lunch with his parents, and then they’d come back to the arena to watch some of the pairs and ladies free skates.

It had been good to spend some time with them. Even though Yuuri had been living at home for almost a year now, Yuuri had been so busy with being a human disaster and then been so busy with training while his parents were perpetually busy with the resort that he rarely spent a lot a time with them. And the time he had spent, it was little more than slightly awkward and rushed family meals.

He’d never been able to find the space to apologize to them, properly. He knew his parents love was unconditional. He knew that they knew he was doing better and were happy for him. He knew that they weren’t expecting or demanding some kind of big penance from him for worrying them so much for those six months.

But Yuuri would never forgive himself if he didn’t acknowledge it.

“Good luck today, Yuuri. We’re so proud of you,” Hiroko said, wrapping Yuuri into a tight hug. “We always knew you would be capable of such amazing things.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri whispered into her shoulder. Then he stepped back and looked at both his parents nervously.

“What is it, Yuuri?” his father asked instantly, noticing the look on Yuuri’s face.

“I just wanted to apologize—for everything over the past year. I’m so sorry I worried you like that and abused your generosity. I’m so, so sorry,” Yuuri finished with a bow, though that was mostly an excuse to look down at his feet more than it was a custom of respect.

“Oh Yuuri,” his mother said and Yuuri looked up to see that she had tears in her eyes. “We always knew that you would figure it out. You’re too special to throw your life away. We knew you’d figure it out.”

At seeing his mother crying, Yuuri felt the sting of tears too and collapsed back into his mother’s chest.

“How did you know? I didn’t even know—I—I was so broken,” he sniffed.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see his father.

“Most children go through rebellious phases at some point or another, Yuuri. You were the perfect son for so long, there was bound to be a misstep,” he said.

“Perfect? I have hardly ever been the perfect son. I have failed in so many ways, even before the Grand Prix final last year.”

“No, Yuuri, you are the best son. The  _best_  son. So driven and generous and kind. You are going to continue to do such wonderful things and make us so proud—make our whole country so proud,” Hiroko said.

“We could never ask for any more than you have given us,” Toshiya added.

Yuuri pulled away from his mother to look at both of his parents with wide, watery eyes.

“Thank you,” he said resolutely. “I will not disappoint you anymore.”

“You will never disappoint us. You could never do anything that would disappoint us. Not as long as you’re you,” his father said resolutely in return.

Yuuri sniffed and nodded. He felt a phone vibrate in his pocket, and knew it was Kanako reminding him that he needed to go get changed and stretched out before the warm up.

“I have to go get ready for my program,” he said after a moment.

“Go get ready,” his mother said while still dabbing at her eyes. “We will be cheering you on.”

“We love you,” his father added.

“I love you both too,” Yuuri said and pulled both his parents into one more hug before he turned and made his way through the athlete’s entrance, flashing his pass to a security guard.

He turned back for a moment to see his parents standing together, his father with and arm around his mother’s waist, and he smiled and waved one more time before continuing down the hall to the changing area.

Today Yuuri was going to make his parents proud.

 

* * *

 

203.77

He scored a new personal and seasons best. He broke 200 for his first time in ISU competition.

He had another over a dozen points to go before he could touch Viktor’s records, and was still several points under even Viktor’s season’s best so far, but he did it. He had skated his free skate as beautifully as he ever had, and if he upgraded just a couple more of the programs jumps and managed to skate this cleanly again, he could give Viktor a run for his money.

Unfortunately, for Yuuri anyway, Chris scored his season’s best too—a 201.45.

Meaning, the difference between their scores was not enough, and Chris took gold, while Yuuri had to settle for silver. Phichit took bronze, just edging out Italy’s Michele Crispino.

But it was fine. Yuuri was fine with the silver. The NHK trophy was the last Grand Prix competition before the final, and it was easy to run the numbers. Yuuri, Chris, and Phichit had all made it into the final. So had Viktor, of course, and Georgi, who had managed to fight another season into the final. And then the final spot went to Canada’s Jean-Jacques Leroy, a younger skater who emerged as soon-to-be potentially Viktor’s biggest competitor after a surprise bronze medal at the World Championship last year.

Well, J.J. was going to be Viktor’s new biggest competitor that is, until Yuuri re-emerged.

“I can’t believe it!” Phichit gasped from across the podium. “I made it into the final.”

“You won gold at Skate Canada, Phich, it’s not too hard to believe.”

“I thought that was a fluke. If J.J. hadn’t gotten so cocky and flubbed his quad loop to disasterously, I wouldn’t have won. He has more and better quads than I do.”

“It’s not all about quads,” Yuuri said.

“Yes, as we can obviously tell, since Yuuri has more quads than I do, but yet it is was my fantastic spins that landed me this spot,” Chris interjected from his spot between them.

“Oh, yes,” Yuuri said. “Of course, that is it. In fact, you plan on doing absolutely no quads ever again, right? Just really great spins to beat Viktor at the Grand Prix final,” Yuuri teased.

“Darling, I have already resigned myself to bronze this year. Perhaps at Worlds, I will make a triumphant return to beat both of your asses, but alas, unfortunately in order for me to beat you two, I would have to have worked to peak my season at the final, which I simply couldn’t do.”

“Josef wouldn’t let you?”

“No, the bastard. Strategically it’s my best shot to ever beat you two love sick idiots, by the time we get to Worlds you’re going to both have combined scores in the 350’s or some outrageous shit.”

Yuuri laughed.

“I wouldn’t exactly count on that,” Yuuri said with a blush.

“Hey, what makes you think I couldn’t get bronze,” Phichit interjected, elbowing Chris in the side.

Chris only raised his eyebrows and then reached out to grab the younger skater, pulling him into his side as the camera man approached. Yuuri stepped up next to Chris and wrapped an arm around his other side and smiled for the camera, clutching his silver medal in his hand.

 

* * *

 

After the medal ceremony, Yuuri stood in the lobby of the arena with Chris and Phichit, a few fans lingering around them asking for autographs. Yuuri smiled and chatted with a young girl who seemed to be about ready to pass out, and Yuuri continued to wonder how Viktor had done this for years with such grace.

Yuuri offered the girl a signature on a poster of him she presented him with, a new one that he’d done a shoot for just over the summer. When she unrolled it, Chris had turned to wolf whistle at the image of Yuuri looking long and lean with his hair slicked back and his eyes fierce, which caused both Yuuri and the girl to blush.

The girl had quickly rolled the poster back up and hurried away, looking dazed, but another fan stepped in to take her place.

“You’re from Hasetsu right?” a little girl, probably no older than seven or eight, asked.

Yuuri nodded.

“My grandmother lives in Hasetsu, and my mommy and daddy and I go and visit her sometimes there! I’d always wished I would see you there, but I never did,” she added softly like it was some kind of secret.

Yuuri smiled gently.

“My daddy says he’s met you a few times though,” she added.

“Oh?” Yuuri said passively.

“Yes! Daddy, come here, come say hello to Katsuki Yuuri!” the girl cried out and began beckoning across the lobby. Yuuri looked across the room in the direction she was waving just in time to see a man with broad shoulders and buzz cut hair look towards them. “I skate too, you know! Daddy takes me to all the skating competitions when they come to Sapporo.”

Yuuri’s blood ran cold.

To his surprise, though, the man looked just as startled as he stood unmoving across the room.

“Daddy!” the girl called again before running across the lobby to grab the man’s arm and pull him over to Yuuri.

Yuuri stood absolutely still, his eyes wide and his breath caught in his throat.

“Remind Katsuki Yuuri where you met him before daddy, you never told me.”

The man blinked back at him before looking down at his daughter.

“It’s way past your bedtime, pumpkin. Why don’t you offer congratulations to Katsuki one more time and we’ll get you to bed?”

“But daddy!” she whined.

“Congratulations, Katsuki,” the man said, nodding at Yuuri.

“Congratulations, Katsuki,” the girl mimicked, sounding disappointed.

All Yuuri could do was stand there and hold his breath as the pair walked away.

“Yuuri?” he heard Phichit ask. “Yuuri, are you alright?”

“Shit,” Chris whispered as he turned to look at Yuuri. “Where is he?”

Yuuri finally managed to pull in a gasping breath.

“Oh my God, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him right here, right now with my blades!”

“I’ll get security,” Chris said, taking a step forward but Yuuri found himself reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder.

“No,” he whispered.

“No? Yuuri we have to do something about this. This isn’t okay.”

“No, it—it’s complicated I think. I don’t. There’s nothing to be done.”

In his mind, the man had always been some creep who had no other purpose in life but hanging around clubs and preying on drunk young men. In his mind, this man was potentially a stalker, waiting to grab Yuuri from around a corner and attack him. In his mind, the man was obsessed with him. A serial offender.

Yuuri had never thought—he’d never thought about the man having a family.

He’d never thought that the man might be for all intents and purposed a normal person.

“What do you mean there is nothing to be do, he’s fucking stalking you,” Phichit yelled, a bit too loudly.

Yuuri panickily hushed him.

“Yuuri, I know it’s scary, but he has to be held accountable,” Chris said, his voice rough.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” a new voice asked and Yuuri turned to see Kanako.

Yuuri opened and closed his mouth like a fish, while Phichit and Chris exchanged glances.

Phichit took a deep breath as resolution hardened over his face.

“Yuuri has—” Phichit began, but Yuuri stopped him.

“He’s not stalking me,” Yuuri said resolutely. “He came here tonight with his kid, who he takes to competitions a lot in Sapporo. It’s all a coincidence.”

“But Yuuri,” Phichit tried to argue, but Yuuri cut him off.

“There is nothing that can be done. Absolutely nothing,” Yuuri said, his voice breaking a bit. “There is no evidence. I can’t even provide any testimony. I don’t want—I don’t want to make a big deal out of this anymore. It’s over, okay? It’s over. He’s not some stalker. He’d not a threat to me anymore.”

“But Yuuri,” Phichit protested one more time.

“I think we should get Yuuri back to the hotel,” Kanako spoke that time, laying a hand protectively on Yuuri’s back.

Phichit sighed.

“I’ll still meet you and your parents for breakfast tomorrow, yeah?”

“Of course,” Yuuri confirmed. “Oh, Chris, if you can get yourself out of bed tomorrow before 11, Phichit, Kanako, Celestino, my parents, and I are going to get breakfast before my parent’s flight tomorrow morning. You’re welcome to join us.”

Chris smiled hesitantly.

“For you, darling? I might just be able to break my tradition of sleeping until noon the morning after winning a medal.”

Yuuri smiled back, telling his friends he’d text them the details before letting himself be guided away by Kanako.

“Are you really okay, Yuuri?” she asked softly.

“Yes, I—it’s closure. Not the kind of closure I expected, but I feel like I know more now. I just didn’t know anything for so long, but now—now I know.”

“Have I told you get how proud I am of you today?”

“Only I think six times after I won silver.”

“Well, I still am,” she said with a soft smile.

“Thank you.”

Yuuri felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and Yuuri took it out to see another text from Viktor. The man had been texting him throughout the free program, giving him live feedback on every skater’s performance, including of course Yuuri’s. Yuuri hadn’t yet had the time to go back and read through them all but planned to tonight.

_Are you back at the hotel yet, or did Chris convince you to go out with him and celebrate?_

_If you’re back at the hotel, will you please call me?_

_And if you’re not, will you send lots of pictures ;)_

Yuuri texted back.

_Nope, no celebrating tonight, it’s been a long day._

_On the way back to the hotel now._

_I’ll call you when I get there._

A second later and a message appeared.

_< 3 <3 <3 i’m going to spend all night telling you how beautiful you are i hope you know that <3 <3 <3 my beautiful yuuri i am so proud of you_

Yuuri smiled and clutched the phone to his chest.

Yuuri was so light he could float. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are everyone ages as of THIS CHAPTER. Everyone's birthdays are what they are canonically as listed on the Fandom Wikia:
> 
> Yuuri - 22  
> Viktor - 26  
> Yuri - 14  
> Phichit - 19  
> Kenjirou - 16  
> Chris - 24
> 
> I don't know how great your memory is, but if you'll notice everyone is 1-2 years older than they were initially in this story. This is because I am just so very bad at math. It's okay now though, I have a chart with everything plotted out now so I won't mess things up again.
> 
> Also, in case you're wondering "What's with this timeline?" or "Why is it the 2016-2017 season?"-- honestly, I don't know. Basically, I wanted the timeline of this story to be definitively not the canon timeline. I wanted everyone to be a bit younger for long term plot reasons. I wanted to save Vicchan. That's really about it.


	15. Hasetsu, Japan - November 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, Phichit, I am aware what Viktor wrote on my post,” Yuuri sighed.
> 
> “Well I would certainly hope you are since it’s all the figure skating fandom can talk about.”
> 
> Yuuri hummed.
> 
> “Is _fandom_ really the right word?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, every time I start writing a chapter and am determined to consistently hit at least 5,000 words: I don’t have enough content planned for this chapter.
> 
> Me, the next day as I finish the chapter: You spent over 2,500 words listing every passing thought Yuuri has while he sits on a train for literally all of about fifteen minutes with Phichit and then had to end the chapter before you got through all your planned material because you passed 8,000 words.

“You didn’t have to come back with me, you know. You should be training for the final.”

“Taking two days off isn’t the end of the world, Yuuri, I haven’t spent time with you in ages, and I’ve never seen your home. And I certainly couldn’t leave you alone to freak out after what you did this morning. Not to mention it’s your birthday tomorrow!” Phichit defended.

They were on the train to Hasetsu from Fukuoka after flying back from Sapporo that morning. The NHK Trophy competition had officially concluded the previous day after the exhibition skates and now Phichit and Yuuri sat beside each other on a not too crowded Monday afternoon train.  

Phichit had announced only that morning that he was going to extend his stay in Japan to fly back to Hasetsu with Yuuri. Yuuri had protested, and was still protesting, but secretly he was glad to still have Phichit by his side. Phichit was a great friend and an even better distraction, and Yuuri was trying to keep himself distracted.

There were so many things he could be worrying about if he wasn’t distracted—the final, not seeing Viktor until the final, other things he didn’t even want to consider because everything was definitely fine.

At least that was his mantra currently anyways.

And it’s not like Yuuri was avoiding thinking about everything. In fact, he’d done something pretty massive just that morning—right before he boarded his flight, Yuuri finally decided to bite the bullet and make a statement about his anxiety attack before the short program. He’d avoided making any statements about it all throughout the press events and other interactions with the media during the competition. Kanako had offered to issue a statement on his behalf through the JSF or told him he could flat out ignore it all together—he didn’t owe anyone anything.

But Yuuri wanted to make a statement and felt that he needed to. He wasn’t going to spill his life story, but he could at the very least admit to what happened.

So he’d taken a picture from Sunday mornings brunch—one of himself and Phichit and his parents and Chris and Celestino and Kanako all around the table together and everyone smiling brightly—and posted it to Instagram with a caption.

 **_y-katsuki_ ** _This weekend has been a tough one and I wanted to focus on the competition as much as I could, but now that it’s over I wanted to take a moment to address what happened before my short program._

_I have suffered from anxiety for nearly all my life and for a long time it has been something I’ve tried to hide and ignore. Right around this time last year, though, I realized I could not ignore it anymore and took a break from skating. So much has happened over the past year, and I am in such a better place than I was before. I have so many people supporting me now and I could not be more grateful for each one of them._

_My anxiety, however, is still something I am battling, not something that has been cured. What happened on Friday was a result of that. Some days are better than others. I love skating more than anything though and I am so glad to have the opportunity to continue to share it with you all, but sometimes the pressure of competing and the vulnerability it takes to put myself before the world is too much._

Below the Japanese, he added an English translation before posting, and then he put his phone in airplane mode and boarded the plane. It gave him two hours for the immediate fallout to occur without him having to bear witness. Two hours for Yuuri to literally and metaphorically distance himself from it.

But then at some point into the train ride from Fukuoka, Yuuri had finally dared to check his Instagram, and the response was overwhelming.

“I am not freaking out,” Yuuri defended. “And I wasn’t going to be alone. I was going to go back to training. Minami was probably going to insist on some rinkmate bonding time since I’m still pretty sure he’s still devastated that he had a big exam for his schooling that he couldn’t get out of and so he couldn’t make the competition.”

“I’m glad to be honest, I’m not sure I want to meet the kid who’s trying to replace me,” Phichit said teasingly. “But don’t lie to me, Yuuri, I know you’ve been googling yourself and reading comments on your post all morning.”

Yuuri looked down at his phone, which currently had a Buzzfeed article open titled “Japanese Figure Skater Opens Up About Anxiety in Touching Instagram Post.”

“And I haven’t freaked out or cried once yet!” Yuuri defended.

“That is because by absolutely no surprise at all everyone totally respects you and any idiot out there who dares criticize you is obviously pathetic and will instantly be attacked by thousands of your, and my, and Chris’s fans, in addition to a certain someone else’s army of devoted followers,” Phichit said with a knowing smirk.

“Oh you mean Yuri Plisetsky?” Yuuri quipped, being purposefully obtuse.

Phichit only glared at him.

“Do I need to recite the top comments to you?” Phichit asked.

Yuuri sighed.

Ah yes, the top comments on Yuuri’s post, some of which had garnered almost more likes on them then Yuuri’s original post itself.

 **_christophe-gc_ ** _Thanks for letting us in, darling. You’re a pleasure to know._

 **_phitchit+chu_ ** _You are my best friend in the entire world, Yuuri. Don’t you ever forget that. Me and the hammies will follow you to the ends of the earth (although you’ll have to settle for their plush doppelgangers until I convince airport security to allow hamsters in carry on with quarantine exemption)._

 **_yuri-plisetsky_ ** _I cannot believe you flubbed the salchow, katsudon, but I guess I’ll get over it, considering._

 **_+guanghongji+_ ** _THANK YOU for being there for us_

 **_its-mila-baby_ ** _ <3 <3 <3_

 **_k-minami_ ** _THAT’S MY RINKMATE YUURI I WILL SEE YOU THIS WEEK WE HAVE TO WORK ON MY QUADS SO I CAN CATCH UP TO YOU YOURE THE BEST_

But then there was of course the comment that Phichit was alluding to, which sat right at the top of the top comments and showed up under Yuuri’s post before even clicking into the comments.

“V-Nikiforov says ‘You are the future of figure skating and I cannot be prouder to know you. I cannot wait until the final to see you’.” Phichit so helpfully read aloud to Yuuri.

“Yes, Phichit, I am aware what Viktor wrote on my post,” Yuuri sighed.

“Well I would certainly hope you are since it’s all the figure skating fandom can talk about.”

Yuuri hummed.

“Is _fandom_ really the right word?”

“Yes, I think so,” Phichit responded matter-of-factly, “Ooo can I read you some of the other comments? Wow they’re gold!”

“What? No, please,” Yuuri said and buried his face in his hands.

“V-nikifo-luv says ‘Omg omg wait I knew that Viktor was friends with Chris and that like both Yuuri and Viktor have various training mates but like are they actually all friends with each other? When did that happen? My heart!’ That is in all caps, by the way,” Phichit read aloud. “Also, I am insulted that I’ve been demoted to a ‘various training mate.’ You love me more than that right Yuuri? More than that stupid teenager Minnoying right?”

“You’re a stupid teenager Phichit,” Yuuri grumbled.

“Yuuri!” Phichit whined. “I’m going to keep reading you comments for that.”

Yuuri let out an embarrassed whimper and continued to try and burrow his face through his hands.

“Here, this one is sweet. Akira_skates__ says ‘Thank you so much for speaking out about this. I have struggled with anxiety and depression and I’ve worried it would hold me back from skating competitively, but I think I’m going to enter my first novice competition this season’.”

Yuuri sighed and unfurled to look at Phichit. “Okay, that is sweet.”

“You’re an inspiration, an idol, _the future of figure skating_ , Yuuri. Own it.”

Yuuri groaned and looked down at his phone and clicked back to Instagram to skim through some more of the comments on his own. Phichit was right, they were pretty resoundingly positive, so much so that Yuuri felt tears prickle at his eyes. And the one or two negative comments were followed by long threads of other comments defending him, and Yuuri found that they didn’t hurt too much to read.

But then he found one that gave him pause.

 **_4eva-skating-2u_ ** _honestly can we just talk about viktor’s and yuuri’s relationship though? cause i ship it SO HARD_

Yuuri hastily clicked open the thread that followed.

 **_niki-for-v_ ** _what are you talking about? leaving a comment on someones post doesn’t mean you’re dating???? and if so then chris is the one that called yuuri darling????_

 **_gc-skate-fan_ ** _that means nothing i met chris at skate america a couple years ago and he called me darling and unfortunately we aren’t dating_

 **_y-katsu___ ** _Did everyone forget Viktor literally flew to Japan just to see Yuuri compete at regionals??? Who does that if not to get some??_

 **_niki-for-v_ ** _that was just because he was in Japan for some sponsorship stuff and you know being a skater and being you know fond of the sport decided to go check out a local competition. it’s a happy coincidence_

 **_y-katsu___ ** _If he was in Japan for business he probably would have been in Tokyo or something, which is notably not really near Fukuoka??? And why would he be having international business meetings like a week before the season starts, shouldn’t that have been taken care of earlier in the off season??? AND then Yuuri went to Russia to train with Viktor after the Rostelecom Cup????_

 **_niki-for-v_ ** _What? That definitely didn’t happen?_

 **_4eva-skating-2u_ ** _you didn’t see the photo yuuri deleted???!!!??? it was ALL OVER tumblr!!!!! they are in love and nothing will ever convince me otherwise. this only confirms it tbh._

 **_y-katsu___ ** _At the Cup of China last week Viktor said he was “Happy to help out his friends” and “Was honored to be given a brief chance to coach a skater like Yuuri to help him become the champion he deserves to be” but that Yuuri deleted the photo because “He didn’t want to ruin his surprises this season” which seems like a lot of really great excuses that obviously mean they’re probably engaged._

Yuuri stopped reading and took a deep breath. He knew that Viktor had spoken about Yuuri’s trip to Russia during the Cup of China. Viktor had told Yuuri the very night it happened, and assured Yuuri once again that no one who mattered would think anything of it, or at least not have any grounds or reason to act on any gossip.

At the time though, when Yuuri had late in the night and alone in his room tracked down the video of the interview and watched Viktor imply they were _friends_ , it had stung.

Yuuri hadn’t known then, though, that Viktor meant they only had to lie or avoid the truth to the world at large. He didn’t know that Viktor had told other people like Chris. Things were better, and everything was fine now.

One thread of comments on Instagram wasn’t outing either of them. Fans speculate about things all the time, no one would think anything of it. Most people probably wouldn’t even see it and be exposed to the idea.

Yuuri slowly let out the breath he was holding.

Everything was fine, he reminded himself. The thing with the man who assaulted him was over, which was relieving. He and Viktor are officially together, and it was like some kind of dream. He was headed to the Grand Prix finals again, this time expected to medal, which was also like something out of a dream.

The sinking feeling that still followed him around must just be the fear that if everything was a dream, he would eventually have to wake up.

But this was his life now. There was nothing to wake up from. 

He switched over to his messages and clicked on Viktor’s name.

_I miss you. Can I call you tonight when I get home?_

The text came back quickly.

_I miss you too. Can’t wait until tonight <3_

“Yuuri we’re the next stop,” Phichit reminded Yuuri and Yuuri looked over to see Phichit gathering his belongings and getting ready to leave the train once it pulled into the station.

“Right, I’ll text Mari and let her know we’re almost there,” Yuuri said.

“Already done!” Phichit grinned.

“Ugh, I forgot that you two are like best friends,” Yuuri groaned.

A few years ago, in the first year after Yuuri had moved to the US, Mari saved up to come out and see Yuuri at Four Continents in Taipei. Phichit had tagged along to “adjust to the atmosphere of international competition at the senior level” or something, but really didn’t want to be left alone in Detroit while Yuuri was off competing and had already attached himself to Yuuri at the hip.

That was the first competition of his senior career where Yuuri didn’t do completely pitifully, coming in seventh place (instead of 20th like he had the previous year at Four Continents). He often forgot that though, because most of what he remembered from that competition was how Phichit and Mari despite their age difference and slight language barrier became thick as thieves and outright ganged up on Yuuri the entire weekend. They were merciless in their teasing.

After that they proceeded to text regularly as long as Yuuri was in Detroit, Phichit providing Mari with regular updates on her brother.

“ _You_ are my best friend, Yuuri. How many times do I have to tell you that before you acknowledge it as the truth?” Phichit asked, his tone was teasing but the content of his words potentially more potent.

“Of course we’re best friends Phichit. I don’t think you ever gave me a choice in the matter,” Yuuri offered a smile.

“Thank you,” Phichit beamed as the train pulled to a stop. “Mari also says hurry up, she’s already been waiting ten minutes and another car behind her is getting pissed at her for hogging the pick-up lane.”

Yuuri hurried to gather his things and made his way off the train.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t understand why you couldn’t drop us off before running all those errands,” Yuuri groaned, finally turning down the street Yu-topia was on after spending nearly two hours running errands with Mari and Phichit after she picked them up at the train station.

“Yes, of course, Mari, you should have catered to the whims of your brother instead of stopping at the grocery store on the way home to make sure you have the food to serve dinner to the guests at the establishment that is your families livelihood. Don’t you know that Yuuri is _NHK Trophy silver medalist_?” Phichit said with a slightly too wicked grin.

“Ah yes, of course, how could I dare not anticipate his needs? Katsuki Yuuri needs to soak in the hot springs and to be hand fed katsudon, yes?” Mari teased.

“You know what, take me back to the train station. I’ll go stay with Minami in Hakata for the next few days. He’s probably less annoying that the two of you,” Yuuri groaned.

“How dare you even suggest such a thing? I love you more than Minnoying ever will!”

“Hm, debatable,” Yuuri said dismissively.

“Okay, but I’ll love you better.”

“It’s starting to sound like you’re coming onto me.”

“Don’t even tease me with the suggestion Yuuri, we both know and have always known that the only man you’ve ever loved is Viktor Nikiforov.”

Yuuri only looked at Phichit with his eyebrows raised.

“Alright everyone we’re here, out of the car,” Mari announced.

“Oh no Mari, don’t you know that when chauffeuring the honorable Katsuki Yuuri you’re supposed to get out the car and open the door for him and then carry all of his luggage inside to his room and leave them for his personal maid, i.e. also you, to unpack and then also fold him a little towel animal.”

Yuuri pushed out of the car and ran to get his luggage out of the trunk before he could hear any more of it from either of them.

He made his way inside, ignoring Phichit as he hurried to keep up with him.

“Yuuri!” Phichit called out, his voice a high whine that told Yuuri he still had plenty more material left, but Yuuri hurried on and pushed open the front door to the resort.

Then he stopped dead in his tracks and Phichit practically ran into him.

“Surprise Yuuri!” Phichit said from behind him and the sentiment was echoed several times over by the people in the room before him.

His parents stood with Chris and Viktor under a banner that had read “Happy Birthday Yuuri!” in slightly crudely drawn characters.

“Do you like the banner, Yuuri? Your father helped Chris and I make it!” Viktor announced before taking a few steps forward.

Without even thinking about it, Yuuri dropped everything he was holding and met Viktor halfway and threw himself at the other man, wrapping his arms tightly around him. Viktor squeezed him right back and leveraged his height to lift Yuuri off the ground.

“I thought you said you were done flying around the world to visit me spontaneously?” Yuuri whispered into Viktor’s shoulder.

“I thought I was, but then I missed you too much,” Viktor replied.

“Is Yakov going to murder you?”

“We’ll see when I get back… I didn’t exactly tell him I was leaving to his face.”

“Alright you two love birds, you’re either going to have to let each other go or get a room,” Chris called out and Viktor reluctantly let Yuuri go. “Also, why do I not get a greeting like that?”

Yuuri blushed and shook his head.

“It’s good to see you again, Chris. It’s been a long, hard six hours since the last time I saw you,” Yuuri acknowledged. He felt Viktor step to his side and wrap an arm around his waist, and Yuuri unconsciously found himself leaning into the other man.

“I know it must have felt like ages, darling,” Chris teased.

“Okay, and now that greetings are done, we have to move onto phase two of Yuuri’s Birthday Extravaganza!” Viktor announced.

Yuuri bristled in shock and turned to look at Viktor.

“Wait? You’ve made this a thing, haven’t you? All of you—plans and stuff to take a day that I was merely incidentally born on and turn it into some kind of big multi-day ordeal?”

“Of course we did!” Phichit chirped at the same moment Viktor cried, “A day you were only _incidentally_ born on! Yuuri, it is my new favorite day of the year!”

“Alright, alright,” Chris mediated. “Phichit, you take Yuuri and get him ready, I’ll try and entertain Viktor in the meantime.”

Phichit nodded and put a hand on Yuuri’s arm to begin to lead him away.

“Wait, no, you only just gave Viktor to me and now you want to take him away?” Yuuri protested, clinging onto Viktor’s arm. He didn’t know where that response came from, but suddenly Yuuri found himself worried if he left Viktor’s side again the other man might disappear.

Phichit looked taken aback at Yuuri’s slightly uncharacteristic behavior, but Viktor was quick to soothe.

“Don’t worry, lyubov moya, it will be but minutes,” he said with a warm smile. “I would come with you, but you will only blame me and refuse. Plus I want it to be a surprise for me!”

“Blame you for what?” Yuuri asked suspiciously.

“You’ll have to go see.”

Yuuri sighed and let Phichit pull him upstairs to his room.

“Okay, so we’re going to have to go through a small wardrobe change before we can head out to begin tonight’s festivities,” Phichit explained.

“Phichit,” Yuuri began but stopped as Phichit opened the door to his room and Yuuri immediately noticed a very nice-looking suit hanging on his closet. It was blue, and there was a crisp white shirt tucked inside of the jacket and a maroon tie slung over the shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get you dressed.”

“I take it Viktor bought this for me,” Yuuri said flatly now understanding the mans comments from before. “And I’m also not going to even talk about how you betrayed me—being in, in cahoots with them about all this!”

“ _Cahoots_? Still studying your English word a day calendar, I see, despite having been back in Japan for a year? But, Yuuri, come on, you cannot expect to be in a relationship with a man like Viktor and be allowed to continue on dressing like you have.”

“Why not?”

“Okay, let’s try a little thought experiment, why don’t we? How does it make you feel whenever you see Viktor, all poised and polished and Viktor Nikiforov like—a sexy tailored suit, a perfectly draped sweater, that beautiful coat, and let’s not forget to mention those slick leather gloves, just made for _caressing_.”

Yuuri blushed.

“Now don’t you want Viktor to feel that way when he looks at you?”

“I always feel that way when I look at Viktor no matter what he’s wearing,” Yuuri said defensively, and then blushed even more when he realized how sappy that sounded. Then he had another thought. “Am I—am I not good enough for him? I mean, I know I’m not, but oh god!” Yuuri spiraled, collapsing down onto his bed and burying his head in his hands.

“Wait, Yuuri calm down,” Phichit soothed. “Viktor is lucky to have you. You’re gorgeous, just as gorgeous as him. The man is so hopelessly in love with you he would probably love you in a brown sack. You’d just be even more gorgeous in this suit, and it would be such a treat for him. Like why we store jewelry on silk cushions in velvet boxes instead of in paper sacks,” Phichit explained, always one to stay focused and make a smooth recovery.

Yuuri sighed.

“Alright,” Yuuri conceded and Phichit grinned. “Can I—can I ask you one more question though?”

“Of course,” Phichit nodded as he helped Yuuri out of his jacket.

“What do you exactly have in mind for tonight?”

“It’s a surprise celebration, Yuuri. It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, but then there are generally only so many ways people celebrate,” Phichit winked.

“That’s, uh, that’s the point,” Yuuri held his breath as he looked at Phichit.

Phichit looked at him with confusion for a second before something dawned over his face.

“Oh, you don’t drink anymore do you?”

Yuuri exhaled.

“No, not really. I mean. I can, probably, but I have to be really careful about it. I’m not as much of a lightweight as I was in Detroit, so I can drink more without forgetting everything, but I, uh, don’t always drink for good reasons and can get into a pretty messy place pretty quickly if I drink, and uh, I haven’t yet tried to have a drink since the ‘Yuri on Ice’ video,” Yuuri rambled.

“It’s fine, Yuuri. I’d forgotten—I can’t believe I forgot, you told me all of two days ago,” Phichit looked genuinely upset with himself. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. And I’m annoyingly not of age in Japan anyway. We were really only planning dinner. If you want to have a drink with dinner, I’ll watch out for you, but you don’t have to. We can tell Chris and Viktor we’re having a sober evening as well, if that would make you more comfortable, I’m sure they’d understand.”

“No, I don’t want to ruin their fun. I, I mean, I want us all to have fun. I want to be able to have a drink or two and have fun with my…boyfriend and friends and have a fun evening, you know? I want that. I just don’t know how that would go in practice.”

“It’s okay Yuuri. You don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with. But if you do want to try I promise I’ll watch out for you and check in with you throughout the evening.”

“Okay. I mean. I’ll have to think about it. I can just order a soda at dinner or something even if Viktor and Chris order drinks. I don’t have to drink,” Yuuri said, mostly reinforcing the idea to himself.

Phichit offered him a half smile and tugged at Yuuri’s shirt.

“As much as I enjoy the idea of getting to dress you Yuuri, and I mean, I’ve dreamed of it for years, I’m sure your boyfriend will find it a bit of an overstep of boundaries if I undress you as well, so you’re gonna have to help me get you out of this.”

Yuuri blushed and quickly began to undress himself, keeping the intimidating ensemble that hung off his closet in the corner of his eye.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri, in the end, was very glad he’d agreed to wear the suit. He thought he might wear a suit every day for the rest of his life, sleep in them, skate in them, bathe in them, if it meant Viktor would look at him like this—would touch him like this—again.

Currently the Russian Champion was standing in front of Yuuri, arms extended, one hand dancing down Yuuri’s side across the fine fabric of the suit, the other one caressing his cheek. Yuuri reached back, one hand cupping Viktor’s elbow, the other on his chest.

“It’s everything I imagined,” Viktor whispered.

“Oh?”

“And you’re better than I ever could.

“Oh,” Yuuri exhaled, his heart seizing in his chest at Viktor’s shameless sentiment. “You’re better than I ever did,” he admitted.

Viktor whispered something in Russian in response.

“What was that?” Yuuri asked.

“Things it’s too soon to tell you but that I cannot resist saying anyway.”

“Oh,” Yuuri breathed again. “I cannot believe that you’re real, and here, and letting me love you,” Yuuri whispered in Japanese.

Viktor looked displeased at once again being matched at his own game, but before he could say anything, the door to the room creaked open.

“Okay, okay, we’re going to be late you guys,” Phichit announced as he walked into the room, Chris trailing behind him.

After getting dressed and Phichit fussing with his hair for much too long and a ten-minute argument on whether or not Yuuri would wear contacts—which Yuuri lost—he’d been sent back downstairs by himself to meet Viktor, who he was told was waiting for him in the reception room.

He’d felt a little like a bride being taken to see her groom in her dress for the first time with the ceremony of it all—but upon seeing Viktor and watching Viktor see him he also felt he understood the strange tradition a bit better now after the experience.

Viktor had changed as well, from the sweater and dark wash jeans he’d been wearing when Yuuri saw him earlier into one of his many immaculate suits—an outfit that had less novelty for Yuuri at this point, who had seen Viktor in a suit on several occasions since Yuuri had met him in person for the first time—but that was still as breathtaking as always. Yuuri could in fact still remember the suit that Viktor had been wearing that first dinner at the Grand Prix final. That one had been blue, a deeper blue than the light, pale blue of Yuuri’s current suit. This one, though, was a beautiful and classic slate grey. He wore it with a thin black tie that Yuuri had had to resist the urge to grab onto and pull Viktor immediately down into a kiss from the first moment he saw it.

Phichit ushered them all outside and to a shiny black car that Viktor had apparently rented. Viktor got behind the wheel, and Yuuri into the front seat, with Chris and Phichit sliding into the back seat behind them.

The restaurant was the nicest one in Hasetsu, a relatively small establishment that was the hobby project of a fairly revered Japanese chef who happened to be from Hasetsu originally. While Yuuri was familiar with the existence of the restaurant, he had never been himself—with home cooking as good as his mother’s Yuuri’s family rarely ate out, and the times they did they stuck with more budget friendly options.

Yuuri still felt a nervous sinking feeling as he sat down at the table, Viktor on one side and Phichit on the other. Viktor immediately reached out to place a hand on Yuuri’s knee and bumped the toes of his shoes against Yuuri’s foot.

_Everything is fine._

And then the waiter came and took drink orders, and Viktor suddenly made the decision Yuuri had been worrying about for him.

“We’re in Japan, so we’ll drink sake, yes?” Viktor said.

“I’m not technically of age in Japan,” Phichit said, glancing at Yuuri. Yuuri knew that his friend was giving him a chance to speak up.

“Oh, well alright, you can drive for us then, okay?” Viktor smiled. “Can you drive at least?”

Phichit could. Celestino had taught him in Detroit over the off season when Phichit was seventeen, a nineteen-year-old and still purposefully unlicensed Yuuri in the back seat for some of the lessons alternating between hysterical laughter and downright horror.

“Oh, um alright, yes,” Phichit shrugged and looked back at Yuuri.

“It’s okay, Phichit, thank you,” Yuuri found his voice and made the decision for himself. “Sake sounds great,” he turned to Viktor and offered a smile before turning to the waiter to order in Japanese, making sure to order a round of water as well.

The waiter brought back hot sake and glasses of water. Yuuri slowly sipped at the sake, and Viktor followed suit, although Chris seemed more intent on taking it like a shot.

Dinner consisted of some kind of prix fixe menu, mystery courses were brought out in quick succession as soon as the last one was finished. Everything was very, very good.

“So,” Phichit said with a mischievous grin directed at Chris, “If Viktor is here and consents, will you tell me stories now?”

“What kind of stories?” Viktor asked.

“Oh, Phichit has been hassling me for all of our naughtiest adventures from the moment we met,” Chris filled in.

“Oh, has he?” Viktor’s grin was nearly as mischievous as Phichit’s was.

“Or, you know, we could talk about other things?” Yuuri interjected, trying to keep the peace, or perhaps not sure he was ready to know what someone like Chris thought of as _naughty_.

“No, no, Yuuri, I overrule you,” Phichit shot back.

“But it’s my birthday!” Yuuri floundered.

“And I am trying to give you the best present!” Phichit announced. “We can trade. I have Yuuri stories too, you know!”

“Oh?” Viktor asked intently.

“Of course, this boy’s not the blushing virgin he pretends to be!” Phichit defended and Yuuri turned a shade of crimson in response. “Well maybe he is.”

“Okay, I have an idea,” Chris announced. “We’ll make it a game. Everyone has to share the naughtiest thing they’ve ever done, and then we’ll all vote, and the person who is voted least naughty has to finish their drink.”

“I love it, who goes first!” Viktor grinned.

“Not it!” Phichit said, bringing his finger to his nose, and Yuuri followed suit. Viktor looked at the other two a bit confused at the custom but seemed to get the gist and mimicked the gesture quickly.

“Okay Chris, you go first!” Phichit announced happily.

“What?” Chris looked around confused but quickly seemed to accept his fate and launched animatedly into a story.

What followed was quite possibly the most scandalous and vulgar tale Yuuri had ever heard in his entire life, one Yuuri would immediately devote all his brain power to blocking out the memory of.

“So we were in the town square wearing nothing but fake moustaches, slicked in the vilest combination of oil and mud, when the police finally caught up to us. I tried to run, I did, but my ass was just so sore it was a losing battle. We were made to promise we’d be leaving the country the next day, _or else_ , for the sake of avoiding the international incident by pressing charges. I also think they just didn’t want us making a mess of the backs of their police cars,” Chris shrugged. “And, well, I haven’t been back to Slovenia since,” Chris finished and Yuuri, Phichit, and Viktor only gaped in silence.

“Right, well, I know we didn’t name a prize for the winner,” Phichit eventually said. “But you’ve definitely won.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad, surely you can top me Phichit?” Chris said, the chance at that innuendo never missed.

“Ugh, I don’t know. Definitely not, well maybe. I had a different story in mind, for the sake of protecting poor Yuuri’s innocent ears and not tainting his image of me, but well, I think we should all just heap on the trauma,” Phichit said with a sympathetic smile at Yuuri.

“Wait, you’ve done… something… even remotely like that… and not told me about it!” Yuuri gasped.

“I mean obviously not quite like _that_. _That_ sounded like a once in the history of the universe experience,” Phichit defended. “But you left me alone in Detroit, Yuuri! I did things I’m not entirely proud of, or okay, maybe a little proud of, in the name of avoiding complete loneliness”

“What do you mean? You’ve always had lots of friends.”

“Yes, but I’d never had an empty apartment.”

“What?”

“Okay, so, um, that night you, me, and Chris slept together, entirely innocently in that case of course, well that wasn’t the first time I’ve shared a bed with multiple people, except in this case not entirely innocently,” Phichit hinted and Yuuri immediately slammed his hands up over his ears and began humming furiously at the same moment Chris shouted, “Details!”

A few minutes later, someone tapped at his shoulder and he turned to see Viktor looking at him sympathetically.

“It’s over, unless you’d like to opt out of my story as well,” Viktor said.

“I don’t know, does it involve your sexual escapades, because I’m not sure I could take it,” Yuuri grimaced, still a bit nauseated by even the hint of the image of his sweet ray of sunshine of a best friend doing… things.

“How about a really pathetic thing I did as a teenager that is embarrassing and involves some light underage nudity but results in absolutely no sex?” Viktor offered.

“That sounds nice,” Yuuri mumbled. “I mean, not nice, but tolerable.”

Viktor smiled brightly.

“Okay then, so when I was probably about fifteen or sixteen, I can’t remember exactly, but it was right around the time I moved in with Yakov,” Yuuri catalogued that detail in confusion, not realizing Viktor had ever lived with his coach, but didn’t interrupt to ask about it. “I was going through a bit of a rough time, you know, as most teenagers do one way or another, and I was also just beginning to explore my sexuality, and well, as a result I started to fixate on an older skater at the rink,” Viktor proclaimed, offering a nervous looking smile.

“Before you ask, you may or may not remember them, but they are long retired now, and I am not going to tell you who they were,” he said teasingly.

“Anyway, it was pretty faulty logic, but it was that kind of logic desperate teenagers use—you know, I like men, I am attracted to this man, that obviously means we are destined to be together forever. It was completely ridiculous.” The logic felt all too familiar to Yuuri, and the sinking feeling in his stomach intensified.

“But since he was, well, a solid decade older than me I wasn’t sure how to get him to notice me. I tried being really good at skating. Well, I was already really good at skating, but I tried just a little bit harder. I think I won Gold at Junior worlds around that time, but of course, that didn’t seem to do it for this man—obviously in retrospect,” Viktor mused.

“But when that didn’t work, I decided I’d just have to seduce him. I think I thought that would be the grown-up thing to do. So one day he was staying late after practice, so I hid in the locker room wearing nothing but a really skimpy pair of underwear I’d, well I think I may have stolen them from the women’s lingerie section,” Viktor shrugged casually.

“And so I was hiding behind some lockers and I was all ready for him to come in and me to pretend to just be casually changing or something and for him to see my probably still gangly, pubescent body in all of its glory and— I do not think I actually thought about what would even happen after that,” Viktor furrowed his eyebrows.

“So I’m waiting for what feels like ages and finally I hear the door open and I get ready to spring into action—when suddenly I hear a moan. Oh, Yuuri I am so sorry, it does involve sex, I just didn’t participate,” Viktor paused to note. “And well anyway, I peak out from behind the lockers to see the skater I had been convinced I was in love with making the preparations to have sex a with lady’s singles skater who also trained at the rink,” Viktor grimaced.

“And,” Viktor paused for a second, his mind seeming to go somewhere else for a moment, but then his face hardened in some silent resolution. “And, not knowing what else to do, I just sat there and covered my ears and tried to block out the noises of the man I thought I was in love with having sex with someone else,” Viktor finished and let out a sigh.

“Viktor, that is really, well, sad, but it is exceptionally not naughty,” Chris said.

“Alright, yes, I may have changed some of the naughtiest bits for Yuuri’s sake.”

“You’re going to lose with that story, Nikiforov,” Chris warned. “You can offer corrections right now and they’ll be taken for consideration.”

“No, I don’t mind,” Viktor smiled. “It is worth it for my Yuuri.”

“Honestly, hearing about you being completely in love with someone else is probably worse than hearing about some one-night stand or doing body shots off some European model in a club or whatever else I always imagined you and Chris got up to,” Yuuri found himself saying.

Viktor’s eyes widened.

“No, I obviously didn’t love him. I was just a child! Children fixate on things, but they don’t know that kind of love.”

Yuuri opened his mouth and shut it again, before opening it a second time, but Phichit got there first.

“Oh dear,” he sighed.

“What?” Viktor asked, turning to look at Phichit.

“Yuuri—” Phichit began but Yuuri cut him off.

“I swore I was in love with you from the time I was twelve years old and I first saw you skate. You were my— _fixation._ ”

Viktor’s eyes widened and for a moment he only gaped.

“No, Yuuri, I mean,” He began, sounding panicked, “Love can grow and change. I—I mean, if I—we never even met until you were twenty-two, yes? It’s different. It’s so different.”

Yuuri said nothing but must have looked unconvinced because Viktor kept talking.

“It’s different in so many ways, but mostly it’s different because I feel the same way about you as you do about me. I had never felt about anyone, certainly not that man, the way I feel about you,” Viktor reached out to lift Yuuri’s chin. “It was a crush. You may have had a crush on me too, but I hope it is not just a crush anymore.”

Yuuri drew in a breath as he stared back at Viktor.

Was it different? Were his feelings for Viktor different now than they’d been for the ten previous years? Was there a difference between his crush and his idolization and the way he was beginning to feel about Viktor now?

“Yes,” Yuuri found himself saying on the exhale, answering his own quesiton. It wasn’t exactly an adequate response to what Viktor had said, but the other man seemed to accept it.

Viktor leaned towards Yuuri, closer and closer until his lips brushed against Yuuri’s ear.

“Please stop doubting how much you mean to me, lyubov moya.”

“What does that mean?” Yuuri asked, transfixed by the feeling of Viktor’s breath on his neck.

“My love.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“So, I guess it’s Yuuri’s turn,” Phichit interjected.

Viktor pulled back from Yuuri and Yuuri turned reluctantly to look at his friend.

“Right. Well. Um,” Yuuri struggled. The naughtiest things he’d ever done he’d done in that club in Hasetsu, but Yuuri didn’t exactly want to talk about those things right now. They weren’t fun.

“You should tell them about that class you took, Yuuri,” Phichit said suddenly.

“Class? How on earth is school naughty?” Chris asked.

Yuuri blushed and silently thanked Phichit. Yes, that would work. It was horribly embarrassing, but it was a relatively innocent thing in the end.

“It wasn’t for school. I was trying to strengthen the muscles in my legs, build up the endurance of my strength, and well, Phichit and I were at a party one night, and I was rambling to this girl about my training regimen because I’m awkward and not suited for human interaction, and she suggested that I take this kind of dance class that might really help,” Yuuri began to explain.

“And at first I brushed it off as a ridiculous idea, but then I was struggling so much with my skating, I figured I didn’t have anything to lose, so I signed up for a five class special. Of, um, pole dancing,” Yuuri finally admitted.

The look of joy on Chris’s face across the table from him was priceless. Yuuri shifted his gaze to look at Viktor and found him looking pensive, but a grin tugging at his lips.

“And did that work?” Chris asked eagerly.

“I, uh, signed up for an additional ten classes after the first five finished. It’s a very good workout.”

From beside him, Yuuri heard a clap of hands and he turned to look at Viktor who was suddenly the picture of mirth.

“Oh Yuuri, you will show me sometime, yes?”

Yuuri blushed.

“Um, maybe. Find me a pole and we can talk.”

“Oh I will buy a pole. I will have one installed in my apartment and the next time you visit me you can give me a private show.”

Yuuri choked a bit.

“Um, that won’t be necessary.”

“Yes, we all want in on this show Nikiforov!” Chris exclaimed.

“So, um, is that enough to beat Viktor?” Yuuri asked.

“Oh, definitely,” Chris said. “The image of you pole dancing is almost as hot as the image of Phichit,” Chris paused at the look of horror that immediately flashed across Yuuri’s face, “Well, what I mean is that the image of a fifteen-year-old Viktor in lingerie just is not my thing, unfortunately. I do make solid and consistent efforts to not be a pedophile, you know.”

“If I had known this was a contest of what gets you off, Chris, there were so many other stories I could have told,” Viktor quipped as he chugged the rest of his sake. “You didn’t say that was the judging criteria.”

“Oh, god,” Yuuri groaned at the suggestion.

“Don’t worry, darling, I would never betray your honor by using your image for my own pleasure, I promise,” Chris assured.

“You better not,” Viktor threatened, but his smile was teasing.

“If you want, Chris, you can use me. It’s been established that I wouldn’t entirely mind,” Phichit shrugged, his face completely serious for a moment and Chris looked genuinely surprised and a bit taken a back at the suggestion, and then Phichit burst out laughing.

“I knew it, I knew you were all talk Giacometti!” Phichit gasped between laughs.

“All talk?” Chris scoffed. “I believe it has been well established that I am not all talk!”

Phichit hummed skeptically.

“So, um, how about dessert?” Yuuri suggested.

“Ah yes, dessert,” Viktor confirmed. “Should we go somewhere else to find some?” he asked.

“I have just the thing in mind!” Phichit beamed and Yuuri finished off the last of his second cup of sake and offered the universe a small prayer of thanks for allowing him to have survived the evening thus far.

 

* * *

 

Half an hour later, Phichit, Chris, Viktor, and Yuuri sat in an empty parking lot with ice cream.

Yuuri had initially protested the idea, as he did most of Phichit’s ideas, claiming that the end of November was hardly a good time to get ice cream. But now that he had a bowl of soft serve and Viktor wound around him “to keep him warm” in the backseat of Viktor’s rental car, Yuuri was once again glad he had such good friends to talk him into all the things Yuuri initially convinced himself were terrible ideas.

Then Chris pulled out a flask and Yuuri sighed as the sinking feeling returned, but he tried to drown it in the offered liquor and after it had been passed to him a few times, a pleasant fog filled Yuuri’s mind and he found himself grinning up at Viktor.

“So, what is next on the schedule of Yuuri’s-Torture-Fest?” he asked.

“Oh, Yuuri, you know you love this,” Viktor responded immediately, leaning forward to close the already non-existent space between them and rub his nose against Yuuri’s.

“Oh, do I?”

Viktor appeared too distracted though now to answer, wrapped up in staring at Yuuri.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are today? You’re so, so beautiful,” Viktor whispered and nuzzled his head into Yuuri’s shoulder.

“So where to next?” Chris asked from the front seat and got absolutely no response from either Viktor or Yuuri. “Viktor?”

“Oh!” Viktor gasped and pulled away from Yuuri, which caused Yuuri to let out a rather pathetic whimper. “I looked something up earlier, let me get the directions!”

Viktor fumbled with his phone for a moment and then passed it up to Chris, a map app open with directions.

Chris took it with a shrug and began to direct Phichit, who was driving now, out of the parking lot and back onto the road and Viktor immediately returned his attention to Yuuri.

“So beautiful, Yuuri,” he purred, stroking his fingers up and down Yuuri’s cheeks. “So pretty. The prettiest thing in the whole world and all mine.”

Viktor collapsed against Yuuri’s chest, stroking his hands absent mindedly up and down Yuuri’s chest and before Yuuri could stop himself he let out a soft moan as Viktor began murmuring in Russian. Yuuri looked down at Viktor and reached up to run his fingers through the other man’s hair.

“Okay you two, we’re here,” Chris announced an undeterminable amount of time later. “Although we can definitely just call it a night if you have other things you’d rather be doing,” Chris teased.

Viktor seemed to seriously consider the suggestion, pressing his hands more firmly against Yuuri’s torso. Yuuri admittedly did too, but for the sake of being a good sport and going along with the plan, Yuuri sighed and looked out the window to see where they had ended up.

Then Yuuri was lost somewhere both far away and right outside the window all at once.

_He was standing on the street, leaning against a lamp post, barely able to stand up straight. Someone came up behind him and placed an arm around his waist, but Yuuri was so numb he could barely feel it._

_“Come on, baby, come back inside with me.”_

_“No,” Yuuri said. “I, I don’t want to,” he slurred._

_“Yes you do, I know you do,” hands were firmer now, so firm they might have hurt._

_“No, I—” Yuuri began but was cut off by darkness. Everything was so hazy._

_“They won’t let you back in the club like this,” a voice said from somewhere far away._

_Stop, please._

_Yuuri was alone again, stumbling down the sidewalk. It was raining? No, he was crying._

Yuuri came back to himself with a gasp and shoved Viktor away.

“Yuuri, what’s wrong?” Viktor gasped.

Yuuri curled in on himself.

“Yuuri? Oh my god. We’re leaving, Yuuri, we’re leaving right now. It’s okay. We’ll get you home.”

“What’s going on?”

“Viktor, give him space. You need to give him space.”

Yuuri gasped, drawing a wheezing breath.

“He—he can’t breathe Chris, we have to do something!”

“Viktor, don’t touch him! No wait, can you get his phone?”

“What?”

“His therapist, I want to see if we can get ahold of his therapist!”

“His therapist?”

They were still talking, their voices panicked, but Yuuri brought his hands over his ears and shut his eyes tightly, trying to block everything out.

He remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I kind of hate how every chapter that I write that starts off being super joyful and funny ends up some place like this. This wasn't even in my notes. I wasn't planning on doing this. And yet, apparently it must happen.


	16. Hasetsu, Japan - November 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Viktor, as much as I wish it was, that’s not how things work,” Yuuri said after a moment. “You don’t just get to say things don’t matter and everything is fine and have that be true.”
> 
>  _Wait,_ Yuuri’s own words hit him. _Oh, shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by the snow that didn't come early enough no matter how much the city of New York tried to collectively bully it into coming and the fact that I still woke up at 5:30 anyway check and see if I could perchance not have to go to work today.

“Yuuri?”

_He was pressed up against a concrete wall. His body was limp, he felt so numb, but someone was holding him up._

“Yuuri, Phichit managed to get your therapist on the phone, do you want to talk to her?”

_“No.”_

“He’s still not responding. Should we—should we take him to a hospital?”

_“If you’re not going to stand up, I can think of plenty of things we can do down there.”_

“Yeah, okay, I’ll call you back.”

Yuuri screamed. It was a howl that came from deep within his chest.

There was a series of frantic shushing noises.

“Whatever is going on in your head, Yuuri, you aren’t there anymore, I promise.”

_“Oh, fuck. So good.”_

“Okay, Yuuri, I’m going to sit here with you, okay? Just you and me, okay? And when you’re ready, let me know what you need. Alright? Take your time.”

Yuuri kept himself curled into a ball. He didn’t imagine ever feeling “ready.” He didn’t want this. He didn’t _want_ this.

_He woke up to find himself in an alley way, his head still foggy and his memories already becoming distant. It was beginning to snow and he realized he was cold, so cold. None of his clothes were where they were supposed to be._

He didn’t want to be here anymore.

He wanted it to be tomorrow morning. Or tomorrow morning next week or next month or next year or whenever this would be behind him.

There had to be some moment in the future where everything was better—where he no longer felt hands on his skin nor could hear words being whispered in his ear. He wanted to be there right now.

“Mari?” he whispered eventually, finally testing his voice. His head was still buried in his arms, the act of unfurling taking more energy and bravery than he had.

“Yuuri?”

For another long while there was silence as the words remained trapped in his head.

_It wasn’t, I wasn’t, he didn’t, he did, I was—_

“It—it was worse than I thought.”

Silence.

“I thought—I thought I was drunk.”

Yuuri managed to raise his head to look up at his sister. He was surprised, although he shouldn’t have been, to see that she’d been crying.

“And I was, but—I said no. I thought—I always thought I may have wanted it—but I said no, I tried to get away from him, and he still—” Yuuri faltered and let out a choked sob.

“It was _never_ your fault Yuuri.”

Yuuri didn’t say anything in response.

“Yuuri?” Mari asked again after a long silence.

“I want to go to bed.”

“Okay,” she let out a deep exhale. “Okay. I know Phichit was going to sleep in your room, but he’s gone to bunk with Chris instead, and I’ll stay with you.”

“What? No—”

“Your therapist doesn’t want you left alone until she has a chance to speak with you.”

“Oh.”

“Can we go inside now, Yuuri? You must be freezing.”

Yuuri only then realized that they were still in the back seat of the rental car, which was long turned off and starting to grow cold.

“Yeah, alright.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri lay in bed, unable to sleep. He blinked up at the ceiling, feeling frustratingly restless.

The inn had been surprisingly vacant when he and Mari made their way inside. He’d half expected to be ambushed by worried friends or his parents, but instead there wasn’t another person in sight as they made their way up to Yuuri’s room. The only other living thing they came in contact with was Vicchan, who greeted Yuuri by the door with a sleepy yawn and a slow wag of the tail.

Yuuri had immediately scooped up the small dog and wrapped him tightly in his arms.

“Do you need anything Yuuri? Water? More blankets?” Mari asked as they made their way into Yuuri’s bedroom. Yuuri shook his head. “Do you need to use the toilet?”

Oh, that was probably a good idea, he realized. He put Vicchan down onto his bed, but the little dog hopped down and followed Yuuri out the door of his room and down the hall into the bathroom.

“Can I get you something to change into?” Mari asked from the other side of the door after a knock.

In that moment Yuuri had looked down at the suit, and then back up at himself in the mirror.

_Viktor._

Viktor picked out this suit for him. Yuuri pushed Viktor away.

The suit looked rumpled now, and Yuuri looked completely terrible.

God, Viktor.

Yuuri shook his head.

“No,” he vocalized for his sister’s benefit.

But, Yuuri realized as he sat slumped on the toilet a few minutes later, he couldn’t really sleep in the suit. It was too nice. A precious thing to be taken care of.

Yuuri took off the pants and the jacket and folded them carefully and walked back down the hall to his room wearing only his shirt, socks, and underwear.

Mari gave him a look that Yuuri was too exhausted to read, and instead he set himself to the task of hanging up the suit and putting it into his closet. He shut the door with great care and then crawled into bed, Vicchan hopping up beside him.

Mari shut off the lights and lay down on the futon that was spread out on the floor beside Yuuri’s bed.

Yuuri rolled over and curled into a ball and prayed for sleep to take him quickly.

But of course, it didn’t and as time went on the memories began creeping back—trying to replay themselves in his mind despite his best efforts to push them off. And now Yuuri lay alone in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the silence suffocaing him.

He needed a distraction.

“Mari?” Yuuri whispered.

He got no response.

He rolled over to look down to see Mari asleep on the futon.

Carefully, Yuuri picked up Vicchan and slipped out of bed, past Mari, and out the door with barely a sound. He wandered down the hall and came to stand in front of a door that he hoped was the right one.

He knocked.

For a second there was nothing.

Yuuri sighed.

Then the door swung open.

“Yuuri?” Viktor stood in the doorway. He looked—well he looked wrecked. His hair was stringy like it had become greasy from having hands run through it too many times and his eyes were bloodshot. He’d done a better job of getting undressed than Yuuri had, at least, and he was now wearing a pair of joggers and a t-shirt.

“Can we come in?” Yuuri asked, stroking Vicchan absentmindedly who had fallen asleep in his arms.

“Of course,” Viktor said instantly. “Of course.”

Viktor moved out of the way to let Yuuri into the room. Yuuri looked around the room. The bed was undone, the sheets mussed like after a night of fitful sleep. Yuuri made to sit down carefully on the edge of the bed.

“Did I wake you?”

“No. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me either.”

“Yuuri—”

“Can we talk?”

Viktor still stood frozen by the doorframe.

“I just—I can’t lie there alone. I just can’t. All I can think about—” Yuuri didn’t finish the thought.

“It’s fine, Yuuri. Of course. What do you want to talk about?”

“Anything. Just, sit with me?”

Viktor did, gingerly sitting down on the edge of the bed a cautious distance from Yuuri.

Yuuri sighed. He hated feeling like Viktor, who Yuuri knew was naturally some kind of octopus-man hybrid, felt the need to treat him like he was fragile. He pulled his feet up and shimmied himself across the bed so that he was sitting cross-legged a bit closer to the middle of the bed, and laid Vicchan down in his lap. He patted the empty space on the bed in front of him and Viktor, after a moment of hesitation, came to mirror Yuuri on the bed.

For a moment they just stared at each other, neither seeming to know what to say.

“You mentioned that you lived with Yakov as a teenager. I didn’t know that,” Yuuri said finally, running with the first idea he came up with to say, even though he didn’t know if it was at all an appropriate one.

Viktor looked taken aback for a moment.

“Oh, I forget who knows and who doesn’t.”

Silence.

“I—I moved in with Yakov when I was fifteen after my grandmother died.”

Silence.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” Yuuri said after a moment. Yuuri didn’t know a lot about Viktor’s family, it was a big gap in his Viktor Nikiforov knowledge. Obviously, Viktor had family though—he obviously came from somewhere. Yuuri had always wondered, but he’d always assumed Viktor was just protecting his family’s privacy.

“She was my last living relative in Russia. I have a great aunt in France, I think, or I did at the time, I don’t know if she is still alive. But I didn’t want to go to France and I don’t think she particularly wanted me.”

“France?”

Yuuri knew Viktor spoke French—that was definitely one of his Viktor Nikiforov fun facts. Viktor had spoken French to other skaters and had answered questions to the media at competitions in France in French on many occasion. But Yuuri had always assumed that he had learned it in school or picked it up out of interest after he began international competition. French Viktor Nikiforov, even a few times removed, was an idea that felt incredibly strange but also somehow made sense all at once.

“Ah, oui,” Viktor said with just the faintest twitch of a Viktor Nikiforov smile taking his lips. “My grandparents were French. Ended up in Russia some time in the late sixties shortly after my mother was born,” Viktor revealed with a shrug. “My grandfather was an engineer and my grandmother a professor and they ended up in Russia for some reason or another—it was something I never had the chance to ask about,” Viktor shrugged again. “I always liked to think as a child though that my grandfather was specially recruited to help build bombs or work for the space program or was a double agent spy or something exciting and scandalous. Maybe he did for all I know,” Viktor admitted like he was speaking some long-kept secret.

“My mother was very much Russian though, she only lived in France for all of a year before they moved to Russia. My father left us when I was very young though, I had always lived with my mother and grandparents. But then one by one they began to pass away. My grandfather had a heart attack, my mother became sick, and then finally my grandmother—of technically pneumonia of all things but probably a broken heart,” Viktor listed off, his voice a bit strained. Yuuri knew for all his allusions of openness and sentiment, Viktor struggled to speak about difficult things. “And so Yakov took me in. Adopted me, technically, but I was never interested in him being my parent and he had a hard-enough time being my coach,” Viktor smiled fondly. “Shoplifting lingerie to impress a man at fifteen was just the tip of the ice burg.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, I was constantly getting in trouble,” Viktor’s smile was a bit mischievous now, “And Yakov was constantly bailing me out, that incident was the first in an incredibly messy spiral of behavior. Yakov did not know what he was in for when he chose me and kept that quiet.”

“Chose you? And kept what quiet?” Yuuri asked without thinking.

Viktor paled and the mirth that had been slowly building back up in his face was gone.

“Oh—em, that story did not end the way I said it did. But the real ending is so much less—well it is naughty, perhaps, but it is not fun or exciting, so I left it off,” Viktor admitted.

“The most naughty things I’ve done aren’t fun either,” Yuuri admitted and Viktor looked at him with wide eyes before nodding.

“Ah, yes,” he paused for a moment before seeming to make a decision, “I—er, I didn’t cover my ears, like I said at the restaurant,” he admitted. “I, eh, I listened and pretended it was me instead,” Yuuri watched as a blush erupted across Viktor’s cheeks. “But I—eh, finished a bit too loudly. I swear I only whispered his name—I do not know how he heard. But he did. He found me, called me all sorts of names, em, hit me. He went to Yakov and threatened to dissolve their contract if he didn’t drop me as a skater and send me off somewhere to correct me. I still don’t know how Yakov has gotten him to keep quiet all these years, but well, Yakov chose me. The other skater left Yakov, the rink, and St. Petersburg and after a disastrous season with a new coach, retired.”

Yuuri didn’t know what to say. He’d never—he’d never even imagined.

“I’m so sorry,” he eventually settled on.

Viktor waved a hand dismissively.

“It was all ages ago. I made my senior debut the next season and placed silver at the world championships and have not looked back since.”

For a moment, Yuuri just looked at Viktor, really looked at Viktor—at the bags under his eyes and the crease of lines just beginning to form around them and the pallor of his skin—and Yuuri realized how tired Viktor looked. Usually Viktor glowed, but that mask was down, gone now. And Viktor looked exhausted—an exhaustion beyond the exhaustion of any single rough night.

“Viktor, as much as I wish it was, that’s not how things work,” Yuuri said after a moment. “You don’t just get to say things don’t matter and everything is fine and have that be true.”

 _Wait_ , Yuuri’s own words hit him. _Oh, shit_.

Meanwhile Viktor drew in a breath so quick and deep it was like he’d just broken the surface after nearly drowning.

“Viktor?”

“I knew I needed you, Yuuri. From the first moment I saw you skate.”

“What?” Yuuri asked, trying to track down Viktor’s train of thought.

“You skated like I always felt on the inside.”

“You mean anxious and completely lacking any and all traces of self-confidence?” Yuuri offered. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to be funny or not.

“No,” Viktor said quickly. “Well, perhaps that was a part of it. But, you skate like, I do not know how to describe it, like some kind of warrior. There has always been this tension in your skating—and it was, it _is_ so beautiful and heartbreaking and awe inspiring and completely captivating. I’m sorry, I, the English is failing me, and I don’t think I am explaining it right,” Viktor faltered. “But then you skated my program in a way that I always knew it was meant to be skated, but that I never could, and I was finished, lyubov moya. It was you or no one,” Viktor admitted and Yuuri just gaped.

“I believe, Yuuri, if you’ll let me— I think that we could understand each other better than anyone else ever could.”

Now it was Yuuri’s turn to drawn in a breath.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked.

Viktor nodded.

“About tonight, about the past year, about all of it,” Yuuri clarified.

“Oh, Yuuri, you do not need to—”

“I want to,” Yuuri said resolutely.

“Okay then, I will listen.”

Yuuri nodded and closed his eyes for a moment as he took one more steadying breath.

“When I quit skating after the Grand Prix final last year, I well, I didn’t just come home and veg around the house and help out with the hot springs, nor did I train in a secret JSF facility, or whatever else it was people imagined I did. I was in a bad place. I—I spent a lot of time getting drunk. I went out a lot—clubbing and stuff. And—I don’t know how to talk about it—that person, they don’t feel like me anymore. It’s like another person’s life now. The life I have now is like an entirely new one and I—I don’t—”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Yuuri, only as much as you can is more than enough,” Viktor reassured as Yuuri faltered. “I am also not unfamiliar with the scenarios you are describing.”

Yuuri suddenly had an image of Viktor, perhaps a younger Viktor, maybe even still with his long hair, dancing like Yuuri had, phantom hands stroking down his body, and he immediately pushed the image away.

“No, but I _want_ to” Yuuri found himself insisting again. “I—well, um, the part of town we ended up tonight was someplace I went a lot during that time,” Yuuri admitted quickly.

Viktor gasped, “Oh Yuuri, if I had known—I’m so sorry—”

“Viktor, let me finish, please, _listen_ ,” Yuuri interrupted.

Viktor’s mouth snapped shut and Yuuri plowed ahead before he could change his mind, or his voice could betray him and go missing.

“And I remembered something I hadn’t been able to before. I don’t know, maybe my therapist will have some theories on how memory recovery works, but some combination of the alcohol that I’d had and seeing a certain place on the sidewalk and the feeling of your hands on me—” Yuuri heard Viktor gasp again, but the other man kept quiet this time.

Yuuri took another steadying breath.

“Viktor—I was assaulted.” That was the word he’d used for months, safe in its ambiguousness, though he wasn’t sure if it was the right one anymore. Any other word, though, felt too terrifying to consider.

“I—I didn’t remember—until just tonight. I was blackout drunk when it happened. I only found out initially because the man who did it came back to the club and told me about it—except he didn’t really tell the truth.” Another deep breath, this one more choked and desperate in practice. “He said I had wanted to. I didn’t. I was so drunk I could barely stand. I—” Yuuri was cut off by a choked sob. For a second, he thought it was his own, but then he realized it had come from Viktor.

“Viktor?” Yuuri looked at the other man in horror.

“Sorry, I’m sorry—” Viktor assured frantically.

“No, I mean—it’s fine.”

“Do not mind me, finish what you wanted to say, please.”

“Um, yeah, okay,” Yuuri said, although he felt unsure now under the weight of Viktor’s response. “I don’t—I don’t have a lot more to say right now. I haven’t really processed it yet. I’m—I’m ignoring it right now, I think. I won’t be able to forever—I’m sure it will hit me again, and again, and again before I can come to terms with it. But I— I still like distractions, and I’m just trying to find better ones than the distractions I used during those six months. Talking to people is a good distraction,” Yuuri offered Viktor a small smile. “Talking to you is the best distraction,” he admitted softly.

Viktor smiled and opened his mouth but just at that moment there was banging at the door and it flew open.

Mari appeared in the doorway.

“Oh thank god,” she muttered.

“Mari?” Yuuri asked.

“I woke up and you weren’t in your bed, Yuuri!”

Yuuri ducked his head and clutched a now slightly agitated Vicchan to his chest.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said sheepishly.

Mari let out a sigh.

“You just worried me, is all,” she sighed again. “Are you going to stay in here then?”

Yuuri nodded.

“Don’t let him out of your sight, Viktor,” Mari turned to Viktor and said in English.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Viktor said, looking a bit startled.

Mari let out yet another sigh and muttered something under her breath before she shut the door.

“Why am I watching you?” Viktor asked as the door clicked shut. “Not that I mind.”

Now it was Yuuri’s turn to let out a sigh. He collapsed back into the bed, so he now laid on his side and settled Vicchan down beside him.

“I think my therapist was worried I might hurt myself or something,” Yuuri said, trying really, really hard to sound casual.

Viktor gasped at the suggestion.

“Have you hurt yourself before? Wait, no, I am sorry, you do not have to answer that.”

“No, it’s fine,” Yuuri shrugged. “I’ve struggled with, um self-harm, but it was never in any conventional way and I haven’t in a few months now. And I’ve never been suicidal, not really, although I guess I may have suggested on various occasions the limited value to my life. So, I guess it’s probably fair, that she’s worried, after what happened.”

“Your life is so precious, Yuuri,” Viktor said without hesitation.

“I know, or, well, I mean it’s at least as valid as everyone else’s is, which is enough,” Yuuri shrugged.

Viktor blinked at him and opened his mouth like there was so much he wanted to say to that, but Yuuri stopped him.

“Do you want to maybe try and get some sleep?”  

“What?” Viktor responded. “Oh, okay, yes, alright.”

Yuuri offered Viktor what he hoped was a reassuring smile before he wiggled himself, shushing Vicchan through the disruption, to get himself under the sheets and then looked up to find Viktor still just sitting on the bed staring at him.

“Can you get the lights?”

“Oh, right, yes.”

Viktor sprung up from the bed and switched off the lights before making his way back over to the bed. Then he stood there frozen, looming over the bed, and Yuuri sighed.

“Viktor, it’s alright. Please come to bed with me. It—it’s probably best if you don’t touch me tonight—I don’t know how I’ll respond, but I want you beside me.”

And so slowly Viktor did. He pulled back the sheets and laid down on his side so that he faced Yuuri, their bodies about a foot apart and the space between them filled partially with Vicchan.

For a few moments Yuuri watched Viktor watching him, but eventually he closed his eyes. Then there was a gasp and they flew open again.

“When you said you weren’t allowed to learn the quad salchow—Yuuri you said you weren’t suicidal!”

Oh, so Viktor had worked it out then. And had apparently found it in himself to revert back to his standard melodrama.

“No one has ever _died_ figure skating, Viktor,” Yuuri defended but Viktor only stared at him, his eyes big with worry. “And I didn’t think you’d remember that,” he added softly.

“I remember everything you tell me.”

Yuuri said nothing and Viktor continued to stare at him in the darkness until finally Yuuri sighed.

“I liked the bruises. I liked being able to see my pain. It made it feel more real.”

“Oh.”

“It’s alright, Viktor. Everything is alright,” Yuuri assured, but then stopped. _Ah, shit_. “Okay, maybe it isn’t. But it will be. I really believe that it will be.”

“I do too,” Viktor whispered back and then they fell into silence.

Yuuri can only assume that sometime later they must have fallen asleep.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri woke up in the morning to find that Viktor was staring at him.

“Happy birthday,” Viktor whispered immediately.

Yuuri yawned and stretched before settling back down to blink at Viktor sleepily.

“Oh, right, that’s today.”

“Yuuri!” Viktor whined.

“So where is my present then?”

Viktor blinked and then his face morphed into a big, teasing grin.

“What, I fly half way around the world for you and my presence is not enough for you? I also already bought you a suit, too.”

“Oh, that is all more than enough, too much actually. But I imagine that you have also bought me a Ferrari or something.”

“You can’t drive.”

“I don’t see why that would stop you, ridiculous man.”

“Yuuri!”

“Can I make a request though?”

“Anything.”

“Kiss me?”

Viktor’s face fell and he lay frozen.

“Oh,” Yuuri exhaled. “That wasn’t the response I was imagining. If you don’t want to—”

“No! Yuuri, of course—it’s just, well last night was a hard night and I don’t want—I want it to be perfect. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or push you to do something you aren’t ready for right now and—we were waiting for the perfect moment and—”

In a flash of movement Yuuri was straddling Viktor, sitting on the other man’s waist and leaning forward so their faces were inches apart.

“Oh, Yuuri, what?” Viktor began, but Yuuri cut him off.

“You know what I want? I want to be able to kiss you every and any moment I please—I want every moment to be the perfect moment.”

“Yuuri—” Viktor gasped.

“I want you to kiss me so thoroughly and so often I can’t remember what it feels like to be kissed by anyone else,” Yuuri murmured before he leaned down and tentatively pressed his lips to Viktor’s before pulling away.

Viktor blinked back up at him with wide eyes. Then he smiled devilishly.

“Oh, solnyshko, I hardly think that’s enough,” Viktor murmured before he reached up to thread his fingers through Yuuri’s hair and pulled him back down for a deeper kiss.

“Viktor—do you think we should still—oh, wow,” a voice came from behind them and Yuuri and Viktor flew apart and turned to see Phichit standing in the doorway. Chris stood behind him and took the opportunity to let out a low whistle.

“Oh, I think we’ll be fine to proceed with the plan,” Chris smirked.

“Oh, Yuuri, Mari said to tell you your therapist expects you to call her at 10 o’clock. Which will give you something to do while we proceed with day two of Yuuri’s Birthday Extravaganza.”

“And she didn’t tell you I was with Viktor?” Yuuri complained.

“Hm, no, must have slipped her mind,” Phichit’s grin was downright evil. 

“Don’t worry, Yuuri, I’m hardly finished with you yet—we still have every moment from now until the end of time.”

“Yeah, okay, right. Can Yuuri use one of those moments to put on pants though?” Phichit interjected and Yuuri looked down to remember he was wearing nothing but a dress shirt and his boxer briefs.

He groaned and dove under the sheets.

“Do not worry, I will take care of him and come and join you as soon as I can,” Viktor said while patting the Yuuri shaped lump through the sheets.

Yuuri whined but thankfully he heard the door click shut.

Then the sheets came flying back away from his face.

“Where were we?” Viktor asked.

“I thought I was supposed to put on pants and call my therapist?”

“Mm,” Viktor turned to retrieve his phone from his night stand. “We still have plenty of time,” he said before leaning down to give Yuuri another long kiss.

 

* * *

 

“Can this wait until tomorrow? I mean—it is my _birthday_ and I’d like not to spend it crying.”

“Yuuri, I didn’t want you to call me so that we could immediately talk in depth about what happened.”

“Well, good. Because this morning has been pretty great and if you make me think about it I’m going to spend all day crying and feeling like someone dropped an anvil on me.”

“So you’re doing alright now?” Yuuri’s therapist asked.

“Yeah. I mean, I know I’m in probably a bit of a state of emotional moratorium right now, and I can’t stay here forever, but if I could make it through just the next twenty-four hours that would—well it would be nice.”

“Your mood is stable, you aren’t feeling particularly anxious or depressed?”

Yuuri furrowed his brow at the question.

“Am I—am I not responding right? Is this actually not a good thing—oh god, you’re going to like tell me I need to be hospitalized immediately and then I’ll miss the final and—”

“Ah, Yuuri, you’re fine. There are no right or wrong ways to deal with trauma, only ways that are perhaps a bit more productive than others. You seem to be coping well while still having realistic expectations for processing, which is a perfectly fine place to be. If you find though that your mood changes, whether suddenly or over time before our regular session tomorrow, I want you to let me know right away.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Yuuri—”

“Okay, I promise I will.”

“If you don’t trust yourself with that responsibility, you can ask someone else to make sure you hold yourself accountable. It seems like you have a lot of people around you right now who care deeply about you.”

“I could let Mari know, I guess, to watch out for me, although she probably already is. Maybe Phichit too.”

“Good, that sounds like a plan.”

Yuuri sighed.

“Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

It wasn’t a question, but Yuuri confirmed it anyway.

 

* * *

 

 _How much longer are you keeping me in exile?_ Yuuri texted Phichit.

It had been nearly forty-five minutes since he’d hung up with his therapist, but Yuuri had been told not to leave his room until he was granted permission to do so.

_Do you need me to send someone up to sit with you?_

_I’m not a child, I don’t constantly need someone to supervise and entertain me._ Yuuri texted back. _But yes._

_Good, because I’m about to go insane. He’s worse than I imagined._

_????_

It was only a few more seconds though before Yuuri got his answer when Kenjirou came flying through the door to his room.

“Yuuri!” he yelled. “Happy birthday!”

Yuuri offered the teen a smile and fought the instant urge to roll his eyes that tended to come with Kenjirou’s presence.

“Hi Minami, how was your exam?”

“Terrible. You know I’m so close to graduating right? Then I’ll be able to focus on skating full time.”

“You could go to university, you know. I did.”

Minami groaned and threw himself down on Yuuri’s bed.

“Ugh, no thank you.”

“So what’s everybody been setting up?” Yuuri asked casually. For a second Kenjirou’s eyes lit up but then they narrowed.

“Nope, you can’t fool me. I’ve been sworn to secrecy. Also, I don’t think your friend Phichit likes me very much. Oh my gosh—I almost forgot—Viktor Nikiforov is here!”

“Um, I know,” Yuuri said. “You didn’t think that was a surprise, did you? Because if so you might as well tell me about the surprise party if you’re so flippant on your secret keeping.”

“No, I knew you knew he was here! But why didn’t you tell me?”

“It didn’t come up?”

“Katsuki. If Viktor Nikiforov is in Japan, it is your duty to tell me.”

“I’m not quite sure that’s how this works.”

“But it’s Viktor Nikiforov! In Hasetsu! In your _house_! You’re like—friends! And you didn’t tell me! When did that even happen?” Kenjirou pouted and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Um, Minami, I, er, have something to tell you, but you have to promise to not freak out. Also, you can’t go and post about it on some skating forum or tell a reporter or anything no matter how much you may want to or how tempting it may be, okay?”

Kenjirou had never looked more eager in his life.

“What?” he gasped excitedly.

“Promise me, Minami. You have to swear on your life, your skates, your mother, me, and Viktor Nikiforov that you will not spread this around.”

Kenjirou’s eyes widened.

“I promise,” he said resolutely.

“Viktor and I, we’re… together.”

For a second, Kenjirou didn’t seem to understand but then Yuuri watched as the revelation dawned over his face.

“No. No way. Is that even allowed?”

“I mean, we aren’t exactly interested in asking anyone’s permission—but it is strictly speaking heavily frowned upon, to put it lightly, in a whole lot of contexts.”

Somehow Kenjirou’s eyes grew wider.

“Oh! Oh my god, right!”

“So you understand why this has to stay pretty quiet? We’re in my home right now and there is no reason to hide it, but when we’re competing or in certain public spaces, as far as anyone knows Viktor and I are just friends and competitors, okay?”

Kenjirou only nodded furiously.

“Okay good. I wanted to tell you because we’re friends, and also I don’t need you passing out if, no when, Viktor behaves affectionatly towards me later.”

“Oh!” Kenjirou gasped.

“He’ll probably kiss me, we’re really into that now.”

The puzzled and shocked look on Kenjirou’s face was priceless.

“Do you really mean that, Katsuki?”

“What, that I like kissing Viktor? Of course.”

Kenjirou blushed.

“No, I mean that we’re friends.”

“Oh, sure, of course.”

“Phichit owes me money then,” Kenjirou announced happily.

Yuuri raised a hand to his head and slowly dragged down it across his face.

“What did that boy say to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kenjirou smiled happily.

Just then there was a knock at the door. Yuuri got up to answer it and found Viktor standing there.

“Alright Kenjirou, you’re being relieved,” he said with a smile.

Kenjirou looked like he might pass out as a result of Viktor Nikiforov speaking to him.

“Run along then,” Viktor said, patient smile still held firm.

With wide eyes Kenjirou slid past him and made his way out the door.

Viktor leaned down and gave Yuuri a kiss.

“I missed you.”

“I’d fight you about how it’s only been a little over an hour, but I’d be lying,” Yuuri murmured.

“Are you ready for your surprise?”

“Oh, you mean Minami wasn’t the big surprise? Because really, he is exactly what I’ve always wanted,” Yuuri teased.

Viktor raised his eyebrows and stared at Yuuri like he was the least funny person on earth.

“Come on, solnyshko,” Viktor said and grabbed Yuuri’s hand and dragged him out of his room.

As they approached the reception room, Viktor stopped to place his hands over Yuuri’s eyes. Yuuri grumbled in protest but stumbled along as Viktor guided him from behind.

Then they came to stand still. Yuuri could hear the rustling of people around him trying their best to be quiet.

Then Viktor pulled his hands away.

“Surprise!” everyone shouted.

It wasn’t, really, of course much of a surprise. But something about seeing everyone—Phichit, Chris, Kenjirou, his parents, Mari, Yuuko and Takeshi and their toddler triplets, Kanako, Minako, and Vicchan all there in a carefully decorated room under a brand new “Happy Birthday Yuuri!” banner made Yuuri feel the sting of tears in his eyes.

Yuuri ducked his head bashfully.

“I swore I wasn’t going to cry today,” he laughed while he wiped at his eyes.

He turned to look back at Viktor.

“They are good tears, though, right, lyubov moya?” he asked.

Yuuri nodded and tilted his head up to kiss the other man.

“The best,” he whispered as he pulled away and turned back to face his family and friends.

He let out another slightly nervous laugh and sniffed.

“Oh, is that Katsudon I smell?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone know that meme about John Green books, where it’s like “spins a wheel” *selects odd ball plot device* “throws a dart” *selects obscure hobby*? Well that is how I feel writing Viktor’s backstory. Writing without having any reference to any kind of canon at all just makes like all of my choices feel so random and irrelevant. Viktor could be from krypton for all it matters. 
> 
> And speaking of which, because Viktor spoke like two words of French once canonically, I now present you with French Viktor. It could be noted that, for example, I too probably speak enough French to have a brief conversation with Stéphane Lambiel and yet I am notably not French, but you know, I will cling to anything that is vaguely canon.
> 
> In other news, we have officially passed 100,000 words which means I’m probably going to basically actively work on wrapping this fic up soon because oh my god what have I even been writing there is no way all those words are necessary. Up next is the Grand Prix Final. Don’t worry though for those of you who like long shit realistically there are probably going to be at least 5-6 more chapters (and I also have really vague but existent ideas for a sequel- i.e. enough ideas that I'll so how manage to transform them into another 100,000 words).


	17. Marseilles, France - 2016-2017 Grand Prix Final

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Oh, will you speak French to me while walking on the beach?_
> 
> _Only if “speaking French” is a euphemism for kissing you ;)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, okay. It's been a while.

_Let me know when you get to Marseilles, I’ll have to show you around <3_

Yuuri read the text and immediately smiled.

 _Oh, will you speak French to me while walking on the beach?_ he responded quickly.

Viktor and Yuuri were texting now. Perhaps _finally_ , after all those weeks fading into months where Yuuri did not know how to talk to Viktor, did not know how to read and return the other man’s affection.

But now, even more, they were flirting. And it came easily to him—to flirt with Viktor.

_Only if “speaking French” is a euphemism for kissing you ;)_

Yuuri’s first instinct was for his smile to broaden as he read the text, but then it dropped altogether. It was a nice thought—walking hand in hand down the coast, kissing while sitting in the sand. But Yuuri couldn’t really kiss Viktor in public, could he? At least certainly not the weekend of the Grand Prix final, when any person that might happen to stumble upon them, might happen to catch a glimpse of them when they thought no one was looking, could be a member of the press or a fan who would recognize them, or at least Viktor, instantly.

 _Don’t tease me_ , Yuuri responded, hoping it came across as more lighthearted than it was a bit bitter.

Viktor didn’t seem to pick up on the between-the-lines tension though.

_Yuuri, lyubov moya, I live to tease you._

_Cruel man…_ Yuuri replied, ignoring Viktor’s potential innuendo. He and Viktor hadn’t done anything more than kiss, after all. Viktor hadn’t even brought anything more up. They’d kissed a bit, or a lot, while Viktor was in Japan, but that was it.

And then Viktor had left and he hadn’t seen the man in person since, so there hadn’t been much time to really seriously consider more.

The idea of anything more was complicated for Yuuri. On one hand, Yuuri had never thought he’d have a relationship like this—that someone who he liked as much as Viktor would like him back. And there were moments where he wanted Viktor, all of him, as soon and as often as possible.

But then there were moments when the logistics of it all terrified him, not to mention the paranoia that he would be bad at it and Viktor would leave him.

And then there was the concern that trying to have sex would lead to more flashbacks or panic attacks.

So for right now, Yuuri was just trying not to think about it—hoping that it would somehow happen organically and be wonderful and perfect and all his worries would be dispelled.

 _We’re boarding now,_ he replied to Viktor, grabbing his bag and making it over to the gate as his boarding zone was called. _I’ll text you when we land._

_Use the inflight wifi and keep talking to me._

_Viktor, inflight wifi costs approximately 500 billion, well, probably whatever currency you so choose, a minute. And I don’t have any prize money yet._

_I’ll pay for it._

Yuuri rolled his eyes.

_Can’t stand 12 hours without me?_

_Can YOU stand twelve hours without me?_

_…_

_When you change your mind mid-flight, I’ll be patiently waiting for you._

_Talk to you in twelve hours, Viktor._

_Talk to you SOON, Yuuri <3_

Yuuri rolled his eyes again as he sat down in his seat and got settled in for the flight.

He made it a very respectable four hours into the flight before he dished out the money for a pass to use the Wi-Fi and send a message to Viktor.

Viktor wasn’t smug about it at all.

 

* * *

 

“So, do you have any last-minute changes to your program you’re planning to whip out?” Viktor asked, sitting down beside Yuuri on a bench at the arena.

It was the men’s practice session the day before the actual Grand Prix competition started, and Yuuri was waiting for his time on the ice to run through his short program.

“Oh, sizing up the competition, are you?” Yuuri murmured, sitting up from lacing up his skates and turning to look at the other man. “Straight to business is it? Not even a good morning for your boyfriend?”

As the word fell out of his mouth Yuuri froze. He and Viktor were definitely… romantically attached. But were they boyfriends? Could you be _with_ someone without being their _boyfriend_?

Viktor though bumped his shoulder against Yuuri’s reassuringly before leaning over a bit so that he could whisper in Yuuri’s ear.

“Good morning, my love,” he whispered. “I just thought it would be better if you gave me a heads up. Who knows what I might do in the face of a surprise. As much as I love them, I’ve found that I’m just a bit too weak when it comes to you.”

Viktor’s voice was what might be described as sultry and Yuuri absolutely did not tremble at the words and Viktor’s hot breath as both washed over him.

But he did find himself reaching out to grip Viktor’s thigh.

“Can we go back to the hotel after this?” he said breathily. “I think it would be best to tell you my plans in private.”

Just then there was the sound of a wolf whistle and he and Viktor both flung apart. The practice sessions weren’t closed to press or the public, and while the past few moments weren’t anything definitive, it was enough that someone who knew what to look for could start to guess that Viktor and Yuuri weren’t just friends and competitors.

He’d hoped no one had been paying attention to them, but well, with Viktor being Viktor that was unlikely. Thankfully though this was a figure skating competition and not a Hollywood awards show or something. Most of the press probably weren’t looking to get a scoop on the romantic lives of the competitors.

“Getting cozy with the competition, Viktor?” Chris asked as he appeared in front of them. “Is that your new method for victory? You always did have a very charismatic brand of intimidation, but isn’t this taking it a bit far?” Chris finished with a wink.

Viktor, recovering quickly from the surprise, let out a gentle laugh.

“I was trying. Unfortunately, our Yuuri is tight lipped.”

Chris hummed and opened his mouth, but Yuuri, fully interested in bypassing whatever joke Chris had come up with about other parts of him that were tight, quickly spoke up.

“I don’t plan on doing anything that anyone whose watched me so far this season probably wouldn’t expect at this point,” he shrugged.

And that was true. He’d be adding the quad salchow, but that was hardly going to be any kind of wow moment. But beside increasing the difficulty of some of the jumps, he didn’t have any kind of shocking moment planned. He wanted to win, of course, his relationship with Viktor did not for a second change that, but he wasn’t looking to break any records or manage any kind of big first. He wanted to skate a difficult program as cleanly as possible. He wanted that to be enough to edge out Viktor and all his other competitors.

“Ah, you hear that Chris? If either of us plan to steal the gold away from him, we’re probably going to have to do a quad axel.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Yuuri rolled his eyes.

“Will a quad even do it? I heard a rumor that Yuuri’s ass scores an immediate 25-point bonus automatically. We’ll have to do a quintuple jump, surely, to even stand a chance,” Chris quipped and Yuuri cringed and stood up from the bench, offering Viktor an affectionate squeeze on the arm.

“If you’ll excuse me, I believe it’s my turn on the ice soon and I should go find my coach.” Yuuri said, surveying the arena to see where Kanako had gone.

“Yuuri!” Viktor whined, reaching out to grab onto his arm, but missing as Yuuri stepped away, having located Kanako across the rink talking to Yakov.

“Shh, darling,” Chris crooned, sitting down on the bench beside Viktor and making to physically console him. “You know we can’t tease him so without expecting repercussions, he’s too sensitive.”

“Then why do we do it?” Viktor asked, his voice taking on a slightly theatrical tone as they continued their bit.

“Because he’s so sexy when he’s completely over everyone’s bullshit,” Chris replied.

“Ah, yes, that is it!”

If they were determined to continue with the bit, Yuuri didn’t have the opportunity to hear it as he walked away and approached Kanako.

“It’s my turn for the ice next,” Yuuri said to announce his presence.

“Ah, yes, well you seemed a bit busy over there with Viktor and Christophe, I didn’t want to rush you.” She said the word _busy_ with a bit more emphasis than was strictly speaking necessary and Yuuri glanced at Yakov nervously, wondering if the man knew about him and Viktor.

Viktor had told him that he and Yakov operated on an unspoken don’t ask don’t tell policy regarding Viktor’s personal affairs, up until the point where he needs bailing out anyway, but Yuuri imagined a man like Yakov was good at putting things together even if they were not spelled out for him.

Just as he’d never _explicitly_ (although there was inevitably some pretty blunt hints and heavy implication) told Kanako anything specific about his relationship with Viktor at any point, and yet she still seemed to know every time he and Viktor had taken another step in their relationship. Maybe he was just projecting, but he swore he could see it as a bit of a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

So Yakov probably knew. And Yuuri just wanted to know what the man thought. The man was not even all-but-family, technically, and the only family Viktor had. Did he like Yuuri? Was he happy for them? Did he think they’d make it, or was he expecting catastrophe? Yuuri wished he could know. But he certainly wasn’t going to ask, so instead he said,

“Yes, well they seem to be trying a new intimidation tactic where they annoy the competition to death.”

Yuuri was not surprised when Kanako laughed lightly. He was surprised however when Yakov let out a sound that could have almost been a cough or the start of a yell, but instead, Yuuri realized, must have been a laugh.

“That is hardly a knew tactic on their part,” the older man said.

Yuuri let out a slightly nervous chuckle in response, still a little shaken by the situation.

“No, I suppose it’s not. This is actually only the second time I’m competing against Viktor after all, so it’s the first time I’ve had to be subjected to it. I was hardly a competitor last year.”

“Oh, da, I suppose it is the first time you and Viktor will truly go head to head. Although if you keep skating like you have been, I do not imagine that it will be your last.”

“Oh, thank you sir.”

“Alright, Yuuri, let’s get you on the ice. And can you for the love of god not mark or downgrade all your quads though? This is too important a competition for you to be doing them for the first time after spending half a day on a plane for you to mark your quads out of some superstition of yours. You haven’t fallen or even just touched down in weeks.”

Yuuri sighed.

“I guess I’ll do them. Since you asked so nicely.”

“You fucking better.”

Yuuri took off his skate guards and handed them to Kanako before taking the ice to run his program.

* * *

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go out and do something? You got in so late last night that I didn’t get to show you around. I would hate for you to feel like you missed out on seeing France,” Viktor said.

They were lying in Viktor’s hotel room bed, curled up but facing each other. Viktor had his arms tucked under his head and his knees pulled up, and Yuuri was mirroring him. Seeing Viktor like this—so childlike and at ease—kept causing these little orgasmic pangs in Yuuri’s chest.

“This is everything I need.”

Viktor hummed and snuggled into the mattress and Yuuri tried not to gasp as another pang shot through his chest. He was so cute. _Cute_. Viktor Nikiforov was cute. Viktor Nikiforov, _his_ Viktor, was cute and Yuuri was the only person in the whole world right now that got to witness it.

“So you’re doing okay, right?” Viktor asked softly, lifting a hand out from under his own cheek and reaching out to stroke Yuuri’s.

Yuuri offered a twitch of his lips in response.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Would you tell me if you weren’t?”

Yuuri wanted to immediately say yes and reassure, but he faltered as that response felt heavy with dishonesty as he tried to force it from his lips.

“I—I don’t know. I would try to, I hope.”

“Good,” Viktor smiled gently and rubbed his thumb over Yuuri’s cheek. “You seem like you have been doing pretty well, after that night before your birthday anyway. It would kill me if you were hurting and keeping it to yourself.”

Yuuri bit his lip and Viktor raised his eyebrows.

“Yuuri?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Yuuri, please.”

“I mean, I told you that I had a couple tough therapy sessions after you left.”

“Yes, but you said you were fine.”

“Sometimes the only way people can tell big, hard truths is by immediately minimizing them and making it seem like they’re not applicable anymore.”

“What?” Viktor said, propping himself up on his elbow so now he was looking down on Yuuri. “I don’t understand.”

“Sorry—it’s like a joke I guess. Except for not really, at all. But it’s easiest for me to talk about pain like it’s something that’s in the past and wasn’t that big a deal.”

“But it’s not in the past, and it is a big deal?” Viktor asked slowly.

Yuuri shrugged.

“I had a hard time, right after you left. A few bad days. Being alone with the—the memories. But it felt like my thing to deal with, you know? I didn’t want to drag you down with me. Cause you any pain and discomfort. You have your own mental health to worry about. And I don’t know. I tried to tell you about it, but every message I wrote sounded crazy—I’d always delete them instead of sending them. Or we’d be on the phone and there’d be a hole in the conversation and I’d try to get myself to bring it up but wouldn’t be able to open my mouth. So, it’s easier to just shrug it off and change the topic.”

“You’re not crazy, never. And even if you are, I know I’d never mind.”

“I just—I think it’s that sometimes I get trapped in believing these things that I know probably aren’t true, are probably just all the parts of me that are broken speaking, but I believe them. And I’m kind of ashamed that I believe them. And I don’t want to admit to it to other people because they’re just going to tell me that all of those things aren’t true. And I know, you know, I know that. But still somehow, I don’t really _believe_ that,” Yuuri rambled. “I don’t think I’m making any sense.”

“You’re making perfect sense, lyubov moya.”

For a moment Yuuri said nothing, not really sure there was much else to say that wouldn’t illustrate exactly what he was talking about. He wanted to be open with Viktor, he really did, and Viktor was quickly becoming the person he was most open with in the whole world, after maybe his therapist. But it was hard. He was so used to being alone with his feelings. So used to letting himself get caught up in them—swept away in them. It was hard to slow down and step back and let someone else in. And he could only do so much of it at a time.

So instead of saying anything else, he chose to let the endearment wash over him and reach out one of his own hands to tentatively place on Viktor’s cheek. Viktor’s skin was soft near his cheeks, but a bit scratchy down closer to his jaw.

Yuuri wondered if Viktor had ever tried to grow out his facial hair, or even let himself get a bit scruffy. He’d certainly never seen Viktor with any kind of a beard, but evidently, he could likely grow it if he wanted, which was something Yuuri on the other hand struggled with.

“What are you thinking about, zolotse?”

Yuuri furrowed his brow, both at the endearment he couldn’t translate and in trying to figure out how to answer the question.

“Is there something that I should call you?” he asked suddenly.

“What?”

“I mean, you call me all these Russian endearments. Do you want me to call you things in Japanese? Or English? Or is there something in Russian I should use? I just—all I ever do is call you by your name.”

“You can call me anything you like, I’m sure I’d love it. Whatever feels right to you. That’s kind of the point of an endearment.”

The uncertainty obviously showed on Yuuri’s face because Viktor immediately continued.

“But if you want, you can start by calling me Vitya. It is a little strange to me for us to be so close and for you to still call me Viktor, honestly.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri repeated back.

Viktor closed his eyes and hummed.

“Yes, like that.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri repeated to solidify it.

“If you say it another time, I think the distance between us might become unbearable to me,” Viktor murmured.

Yuuri looked at the other man, the way their arms were already tangled as they cupped one another’s cheeks, the way their knees were already bumped together.

He’d already never felt closer to another human than he felt right now.

But if Viktor thought they could be even closer than this, that there could be more than this, Yuuri would be happy to let the older man show him.

“Vitya,” Yuuri whispered.

Viktor moaned and Yuuri watched his face like it was in slow motion. Then the world seemed to move at double speed to make up for the previous lapse as in an instant Viktor simultaneously leant down and pulled their bodies together so that their foreheads were pressed together, their noses knocking. They were so close now, pressed up against each other, and Yuuri could feel Viktor’s heart hammering against his own chest.

“Can I kiss you?” Viktor whispered.

Yuuri nodded, the shift of his head brushing his lips against Viktor’s. Viktor caught them in passing and Yuuri returned the kiss with an open mouth.

Viktor was so warm—so, so warm Yuuri didn’t think he’d be able to look at Viktor again without remembering the warmth of his body. He didn’t know if he’d be able to look at _another person_ ever without wondering if their body was as warm as his Viktor, or if Viktor just ran hot.

“Yuuri,” Viktor groaned as they broke apart. “My Yuuri.”

“Vitya, my Vitya,” Yuuri repeated slowly before nuzzling his head down into Viktor’s chest and rejoicing as Viktor’s arms wrapped tightly around him to hold him there like it was the place he belonged.

 

* * *

 

“So do you have any surprises for us today?” the journalist asked Yuuri. He was doing some press before the short program, having spent the past hour being passed from journalist to journalist with all the other skaters like some sad and awkward game of speed dating.

Yuuri smiled graciously at the question, doing his best imitation of Viktor’s press smile number two.

“It’s funny, Vit-ktor– and Chris--,” Yuuri weaved the response into the most innocent, although perhaps slightly less truthful version with a bit of effort. It wasn’t even really a lie, anyway. Viktor’s name was Viktor. Chris had been there and asked as well. _Why was he still obsessing about this?_ “Asked the same thing during the practice session yesterday. My answer is the same though—I’m not planning on doing anything that anyone who has followed me this season probably wouldn’t expect.”

“I think the one thing we’ve come to expect from you this season, Katsuki, is that we can’t expect anything.”

Yuuri shrugged.

“Then I think you must need a better imagination, and probably to brush up on your knowledge of figure skating,” Yuuri said with a shrug and slight blush.

The journalist laughed before moving onto the next question.

“So you mentioned Viktor Nikiforov and Chris Giacometti, yes? What is the rivalry like there?”

“Oh, I mean, I wouldn’t use a word as strong as rivalry. We’re all competitive of course, and would all like to win, but we’ll respect the results whatever they are. I hope that it’s finally my year to land on the podium, but I’m honestly great friends with most of my competitors here today.”

“You have trained with several of your competitors here today, have you not? You trained in Detroit with Phichit Chulanont under Celestino Cialdini, and we also heard that last month you spent some time in Russia training with Viktor Nikiforov himself.”

“Ah, yes. Phichit is my best friend, we grew very close while I was in Detroit. Although I wouldn’t say I was training with Viktor. He was doing me a favor, at best. I was struggling with a jump and he offered to help me out, so I stayed in Russia for a few days after the Rostelecom cup and Viktor and his rink mate Yuri Plisetsky helped give me some pointers.”

“Yuri Plisetsky is doing very well the junior division. Do you worry about when he enters the senior division?”

“Worry about what? Yuri will be a strong competitor, sure, but there isn’t much sport without competition is there?”

“That’s a great outlook. You’ve been fairly open with you struggles away from the ice, do you want to speak about how your relationship with the sport and your mental health has changed over this season.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said, a bit shocked. He honestly hadn’t expected anyone to ask him about this, at least not so directly. None of the other dozen journalists had. “I mean, I just want to say I’m so thankful to all my friends and family, new and old. I wouldn’t be where I am today without my support system. This time last year I was very lonely, and overworked, and just struggling a lot. Now I’m just surrounded by so much—love,” the word fell out of his mouth a bit awkwardly. “And I’m, er, so grateful.”

“Thank you for speaking so honestly with me, I know that you’re a private person. It’s certainly very meaningful that you’ve decided to speak out on these issues.”

“Oh, right,” Yuuri fumbled. “It’s not a problem at all.”

“Well good luck today. But really,” the journalist continued as she gestured for the man behind her who had been filming the interview to cut. “It’s so important to have someone in elite sport being open about mental health. There is so much still that a lot of athletes I know feel they have to hide about themselves. I think what you’ve done is incredibly brave.”

Yuuri ducked his head.

“Really, it’s no problem. I’ve never really wanted to be the kind of person that hides who they are. Inevitably sometimes I am, but I wish we could all be more open and not have to carry so much fear with us all the time.”

“Damn, I wish I’d kept the camera rolling.”

“I’ll try to paraphrase it later in the interviews after the competition, if you’ll still be around,” Yuuri offered politely.

“I’ll take you up on that. Good luck with your short program today, Katsuki, and thanks for taking the time to speak with me.”

“Sure,” Yuuri shrugged and made his way over to where Kanako was standing and watching nearby, glad to be done with the interviews.

“So, are you ready to skate?” she asked, throwing an arm over his shoulder and leading him out of the press room.

“Always,” he responded without hesitation.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri stood on the rink as his name was announced before the warm up. He glanced down to where Viktor was standing. He knew still that even with his own growing popularity the room would still scream the loudest for Viktor.

A small part of Yuuri wished that he could scream for him too.

But instead Viktor’s name was called and Yuuri smiled politely and skated in a small and lazy loop as he waited for the warm up to begin. The time was called and Yuuri took off to find some space to practice a few jumps.

He purposefully tried to not think about Viktor and tried to get himself in the zone for his own program.

Then the warm up was finished and Yuuri and the rest of the competitors, except Phichit who was up first, left the ice.

The order for the day was Phichit, Jean-Jacques Leroy, Yuuri right in the middle, Georgi, Chris, and then Viktor last—because Viktor almost always went last, even when the order had nothing to do with any kind of ranking. It was his personal superpower—well along with also being the number one figure skater in the world for years upon years.

Yuuri sat on a bench with Kanako and waited for Phichit’s music to start, eager to watch his friend.

“So how _are_ you doing?” Kanako asked, in that way Yuuri was learning that he would inevitably always be asked after becoming known as someone who has had multiple breakdowns of varying severity. People ask everyone all the time how they’re doing, but the second they witness you have a few severe panic attacks and suddenly they have to make sure you know they finally actually mean it. At least for a while anyway.

“I’m good,” he said, although he honestly wasn’t quite sure.

He was fine. He was ready to skate—a bit nervous, but in an energized way that surprised him. He was a bit, well he didn’t know what quite, but a bit something that Viktor was currently standing all the way across the rink talking with Yakov and Georgi instead of at his side, but that wasn’t anything that could be fixed really.

Probably.

But yeah, he was fine enough.

Phichit scored well, managing just barely to stay in first after J.J. went. Neither of them broke 100 points, like it was likely that Viktor and hopefully Yuuri and maybe Chris would, but still it was a season best for both of the younger skaters.

Yuuri gave his guards to Kanako and offered her a smile as he stepped out on the ice when it was he turn to skate.

He looked out to find Viktor as he skated to the center of the rink. He was relieved to see that the other man was beaming at him. He hadn’t gotten to spend much time with Viktor today, even though they’d woken up in the same bed, and it had Yuuri feeling just a bit disappointed. Not being able to see Viktor because he was a continent away was one thing, but not being able to spend time with Viktor when he was just standing on the other side of an ice rink carried a heavy weight.

And, of course, it wasn’t really either of their faults, they had to prep for the competition. That wasn’t really a group activity.

But there was some part of Yuuri that wanted more. Maybe it was a selfish and unrealistic part of him, but it was still there. But then his name was announced, and he watched Viktor applaud furiously for him, and with a small smile sent in his boyfriend’s direction, Yuuri allowed himself to get lost in his program.

 

* * *

 

One point.

The ISU supposedly worked so hard to make sure scoring was fair, but when Yuuri beat Viktor’s short program record only for Viktor to reclaim it by _exactly one point_ , Yuuri wondered if there was something else going on among the judges—some secret rule among them where they were just trying to cause drama.

Of course, Yuuri wasn’t really mad or anything. Viktor had skated flawlessly, and his own skate had been pretty flawless as well. One point was a small enough of a difference that it hardly gave Viktor any advantage in the free skate. Historically, there were basically never one-point differences between podium positions—it would be pretty unprecedented if Yuuri and Viktor tied in their free skate scores.

“Yuuri!” a voice called out and Yuuri turned to see Phichit bounding toward him. “One-fucking-point, eh?”

“Apparently,” Yuuri replied into Phichit’s shoulder as the younger man threw his arms around Yuuri.

“So where is Viktor? You two are usually attached at the hip now a day.”

“He’s been a bit focused on the competition today, I’m sure I’ll see him soon,” Yuuri shrugged, glancing around the rink for the aforementioned man but not being able to find him.

“Well, he should be here telling you how brilliant you were. Because you were. Every time you skate that program it makes me want to cry. Every single time. And I’ve seen it at least a dozen times now.”

“Thanks, Phichit. You didn’t do so bad yourself,” Yuuri offered with a smile.

“I’m not in last!” Phichit proclaimed.

Yuuri laughed.

“Yes, you aren’t last! And you certainly did better than I did my last Grand Prix.”

“I mean, that’s not hard to do. That little friend of yours, Minannoying, could probably score higher right now than you did last year. At least in the free skate anyway.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes, but then furrowed his brow as he noticed Phichit was no longer looking at Yuuri, but past him over his shoulder.

Then someone jumped onto his back.

“Fuck,” Yuuri gasped as he struggled to keep his balance. Strong arms wrapped around him though, holding him upright.

“I’m so proud of you, Yuuri, you were beautiful as always,” a voice Yuuri would recognize anywhere whispered into his ear.

Yuuri let himself melt a little bit into Viktor’s embrace, falling ever so slightly back against the other man’s chest.

“Are you trying to attack me, you exasperating man? Is this your version of the 1994 U.S. Figure Skating Championship?” Yuuri quipped.

Viktor let him go and Yuuri spun around to face the other man.

“Hm,” was all Viktor said, stroking his chin as he looked at Yuuri seriously.

“Vitya, what? It was a joke!”

“No, I was just thinking how last night you were all worried about not having any endearments for me, when obviously you do,” Viktor said. “Although it’s hardly fair that I call you _my love_ and you call me _exasperating_.”

Yuuri couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing.

He only stopped when he felt Viktor squeeze his upper arm gently, and Yuuri looked at the other man with wide eyes as his hand lingered there. The silent, “I could kiss you right now,” there.

For a second, he almost wanted to ask, “What’s stopping you?” and kiss Viktor himself, abandoning their sad replacement.

But he knew perfectly well what as stopping him. Why they’d come up with the arm squeeze signal all those weeks ago.

So instead he said, softly, “You owe me the real thing later.”

Viktor grinned mischievously and gave Yuuri’s arm another squeeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, I know it's been a while. Life is weird though and it keeps going for some reason and I keep changing and growing and learning and having to deal with shit and participate in capitalism and maintain and build relationships with other humans and honestly what is with that? But anyway, you can debate yaoi and the fetishization of gay men until the end of time, but I owe huge portions of the discovery of my queer identity to slash fan fiction, so happy pride month and I hope you enjoyed some cuddly gays.
> 
> I did however in the meantime also complete my first fic EVER and so if you haven't yet, feel free to go check out my other fic [Give Me Too Much](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14105355/chapters/32499564).


	18. Marseilles, France - 2016-2017 Grand Prix Final

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s just insane,” Yuuri explained. “Imagine if they knew. Here everyone always wants a bitter rivalry but instead I feel like we should make some cheesy bet about how whoever loses owes the winner sexual favors.”
> 
> “I mean, I wouldn’t object,” Viktor said as he ran a hand through Yuuri’s hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *trumpet noises* I hope you’re ready for some sassy Yuuri because here he is with no fucks given.

“Vitya.”

“Yuuri?”

Viktor rolled over to face Yuuri. He had the most ridiculous bed head and Yuuri reached out to try, fruitlessly, to smooth down his bangs.

“Today’s the free skate,” Yuuri whispered in the silence of the morning.

“Yeah, it is.”

Yuuri sighed and flopped over onto his back.

“Today’s the free skate of a grand prix final I’m likely to make the podium of and I’m waking up in bed with Viktor Nikiforov,” Yuuri said a bit breathlessly. Then he started to laugh.

Viktor looked down at him, his eyebrows raised.

“It’s just insane,” Yuuri explained. “Imagine if they knew. Here everyone always wants a bitter rivalry but instead I feel like we should make some cheesy bet about how whoever loses owes the winner sexual favors.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t object,” Viktor said as he ran a hand through Yuuri’s hair. “No pressure of course.”

“No pressure to win or no pressure to have sex with you?”

“Both, but mostly the second.”

Yuuri didn’t say anything, although admittedly not because he didn’t have anything to say, but because he had so much it was overwhelming.

He’d thought about it, a lot. He’d talked about it with his _therapist_ , for goodness sake. But he didn’t want to spend hours unloading onto Viktor all his apprehensions and the way they so confusingly mix with his desire.

He was supposed to say something cute and flirty and optimistic. He wanted to say something cute and flirty and optimistic.

And so he said, “How about we change the terms of the bet?”

“There were terms of the bet?”

“I mean, how about instead I bet that if I win I’ll be so ecstatic feeling that I’ll ride the high right into your pants.”

“Oh?”

“Yup. Now it’s your turn.”

“I don’t want to be presumptuous.”

“It’s a bet, Vitya. It’s supposed to be presumptuous by definition.”

“Yes, but me betting on whether or not you’ll feel emotionally ready for sex at any given moment feels wrong.”

“Okay, then don’t bet on that.”

“Okay, I bet that you’re going to win.”

Yuuri looked at Viktor and furrowed his brow.

“And?”

“And nothing, I bet that you’re going to win. I don’t need anything else but to see you get what you deserve.”

Yuuri propped himself up on his elbows.

“You aren’t planning on throwing the competition, are you?”

“Of course not,” Viktor put on a look of mock insult. “But I think that you are going to win.”

“Well then if I’m betting on me and you’re betting on me, who’s betting on you?”

“I’m sure there is no shortage of people betting on me. There hasn’t been for many years.”

“I guess not.”

Viktor rolled his eyes and then leaned forward to place a kiss on the tip of Yuuri’s nose.

“You’re going to win,” he whispered.

“I was only betting on myself because I thought I was the underdog. If you’re so convinced you’re going to lose, then maybe I’ll have to change my bet.”

“No, no, you do need all the help you can get,” Viktor said with an air of haughtiness, but a smile warped his lips.

“Vitya!” Yuuri gasped, laughing.

“Maybe I should give you a kiss for good luck,” Viktor said, before pressing their lips together. The kiss grew intense quickly, and Yuuri reveled in it.

“Mm, you do seem to think I need a lot of luck,” Yuuri murmured as he pulled away for a moment after a few solid minutes of making out.

“Mmhmm,” Viktor hummed as his lips pressed against Yuuri’s neck. “So. Much. Luck,” he said, punctuating the words with kisses along Yuuri’s jaw before returning to reclaim his lips so they could kiss a bit longer.

“But you’re definitely going to win now.”

Yuuri could only dream.

 

* * *

 

“So?”

“So what?” Yuuri asked Phichit who was bouncing in front of him as they waited in a room set up for the competitors in the bowels of the ice rink before heading out for their warm up and to begin the competition.

“So? There are clearly _things_ going on between you and Viktor and I want all the details.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I feel so out of the loop. He stalks you for months, grows increasingly flirty, and then one morning I walked in on the two of you making out, and now it’s several weeks later and I’ve gotten absolutely no details!”

“Well I mean I didn’t see him for most of those several weeks, we were both training in different countries you know. And so were you, as a matter of fact.”

“But did you send him dirty pictures?”

“No!” Yuuri gasped, looking around the room to make sure no one was listening in. Thankfully the room was closed to press and the only other person in the room at the moment was J.J. off in another corner with his coach.

“Did he send you dirty pictures?”

“Phichit, I’m literally just finally comfortable enough to like talk to and be around him. I just figured out how to flirt, I’m hardly advanced enough to send a casual dick pic.”

“Well that’s because dick pics probably aren’t your style, silly!” Phichit practically squealed. “You’re more of a pouty lips and sexy underwear kind of guy.”

“I don’t own sexy underwear.”

“Anything _tight_ will do. Or you know just order stuff in the internet. You’re an adult Yuuri, for goodness sakes! Order something fun and flirty to wear for your boyfriend.”

“Fun and flirty?” Yuuri grimaced a bit. “Like what, a jock strap?”

“Sure, I guess. Oh maybe something neon, or a little go-go-esque. But honestly I was thinking something with lace or glitter.”

“Oh, sure, when I go and get my costumes made for next season, I’ll just ask the tailor if she can design a special costume for my junk,” Yuuri said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Phichit, of course, seemed to ignore the sarcasm though, and his face lit up gleefully.

“Yuuri, please,” he begged, “Please do it. Please do it and send _me_ pictures.”

“Send you pictures of what?” a voice interrupted.

Yuuri spun around to see Viktor, his Russian warm ups covering his costume, his skates already on and ready to head out to the ice for warm up.

“I’m trying to teach Yuuri to be a better boyfriend.”

Viktor smiled and leaned in closer to Phichit to whisper.

“Yuuri’s already the best boyfriend.”

“But you spend so much time a part,” Phichit shot back, his voice also low and mischievous. “Wouldn’t you love some photographs to help keep yourself warm?”

Viktor opened his mouth, but perhaps, Yuuri was sure, thankfully, they were interrupted.

“What’s going on here, boys?” Chris boomed as he broke apart their little circle. “Strategizing to keep me off the podium?”

“Yes,” Viktor said, leaning back to cross his arms over his chest. “That is exactly what we’re doing. All night last night all I could think about was you, and how on earth I was going to keep you from stealing victory from our Yuuri.”

Chris pursed his lips, “While I’m flattered, I’m almost positive that you were not thinking of me very much at all last night,” Chris finished with a suggestive wink.

They’d all gone out to dinner last night and when they got back to the hotel, Yuuri and Viktor had fairly obviously not gone back to separate rooms. It certainly wasn’t like anyone else who may have been around really noticed, or thought anything of it, if they had. But Phichit and Chris knew, and inevitably neither of them were interested in letting Yuuri forget it.

Of course, Yuuri didn’t particularly want to forget the feeling of Viktor wrapped around him before he fell asleep either. So, he should probably just embrace the teasing.

“What are you all doing here, having some kind of secret meeting?” a voice interrupted for a third time.

“Apparently,” Yuuri sighed as he turned to look at Kanako.

“Have they been teasing you?” she asked Yuuri knowingly, but her sympathy a bit too teasing in its own right, which made Yuuri fight not to roll his eyes. “I’ll report all of you to the ISU for trying to intimidate my skater!” she said as she turned to scold Viktor, Chris, and Phichit. None of them looked very scared to begin with, but then Kanako added a wink and they all grinned at her, apparently the four of them happy to conspire together for Yuuri’s suffering. “Shouldn’t all of you be with your coaches? I’ll have to have a talk with them about wrangling their skaters,” she continued. “Get out of here. Scram!”

“I’ll see you all on the ice,” Chris called as he walked away, pulling Viktor and Phichit behind him.

“So, are you ready? You feeling good?” Kanako turned back to Yuuri to ask seriously.

Yuuri shrugged.

“I think so. A little numb, honestly.”

Kanako’s eyes widened.

“That’s the worst thing you could be, Yuuri. Your entire performance score is in your emotion.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said, looking down at his skates.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Yuuri. That’s a violent swing in the other direction. I just want you to go out there and show people something, prove something to them. You have to have something you still want to say with your performance, yes?”

Did he? Well, of course he did. He had too. But everything has just been so… fine. His mind for once was quiet. Well, not quiet, he still thought about a lot of things. But he thought about Viktor. About being with him, about maybe having sex with him, about trying to enjoy every moment they were together—even when they were apart.

And he thought about training. About the mechanics of it anyway, about being present and trying to make everything just a bit tighter, cleaner, better.

And then there were the things he thought about not thinking about—his assault, the man who assaulted him, every single panic attack or other breakdown he’d had as a result.

And then there was the future. He spent a lot of time thinking about how he couldn’t think about the future. About his career after this competition, this season. About the future of his relationship with Viktor. About if he could ever publicly be with Viktor. About the way he felt every time he had to alter his behavior because of the secret, and how he wondered if it would begin to weigh on him more. About whether one day it could weigh on him so much it could overpower the joy that being with Viktor brought him.

He couldn’t think about any of that. He could only think about not thinking about it.

“Yuuri—what do you want people to know? What do you want to say?”

“It’s—strength. It’s still strength. It’s always been strength.”

“Has it?”

What kind of question was that? It was whatever he said it was. Right?

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve been through a lot this year, Yuuri. A year has passed. Look at where you are now. What are you skating for?”

“Myself.”

“Yourself?”

“The me who walked off the ice last year. The me who lived through everything that followed.”

“But that you doesn’t exist anymore. He’s been lost to time.”

“Then for everyone whose worst lives haven’t been yet. For everyone who is still trapped in a present they dream of getting past.”

“Okay, sounds good,” Kanako nodded resolutely.

“Sounds good?” a bit confused.

“Yes, very articulate. Tell it to a reporter later. Now are you really ready?”

For a moment, Yuuri just gaped at Kanako, not sure exactly what had quite happened, although it was kind of like how he felt after a productive therapy session—a little like he could do anything, a little like he needed to have a cry and a nap.

But there was no time for crying or napping, or even just “doing anything.” He had something very specific he needed to go do, after all.

He needed to go win the Men’s Senior Grand Prix Final.

“As ready as I’ll probably ever be.”

Kanako nodded sharply and together they walked out to the rink.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri watched Viktor as he sat in the kiss and cry waiting for his scores.

Yuuri himself had done well. His scores were solid—a seasons best of his own and a solid few points above Viktor’s season’s best up to this point as well.

He could win. He could come in second.

He was definitely on the podium.

That’s what mattered most, maybe.

After him came Chris, Georgi, J.J., and then Phichit—combined scores already taken into account.

He was 100 percent going to have a medal. And some god damn prize money. All that was left to find out was whether it would be silver or gold.

And that was enough of a victory, probably.

But also, he really kind of wanted to win.

Viktor didn’t look nervous as he waited for his scores. He never really did, of course, but usually behind the calm and confident façade there was historically a bit of tension. No one, not even Viktor Nikiforov, could withstand the emotional weight of the kiss and cry without a little bit of angst.

But today he wasn’t clutching the poodle toy he held a bit too tightly. There was no slight bouncing of his thigh from a nervously tapping heel. He just sat there, calmly smiling, occasionally saying something to Viktor or smiling and waving at the cameras in front of him.

And then came the announcement, Viktor’s score flashing up onto the score board as the announcer read it off.

It was about two and a half points lower than Yuuri’s free skate score.

Meaning, Yuuri had won. By a point and a half.

Without thinking about it, Yuuri found himself making to run over to Viktor. In his mind the other man would meet him half way. Kanako intercepted him with a hug before he could make a single bound in his boyfriend’s direction.

“Viktor told me to tell you he’d give you the congratulations you deserve tonight,” she whispered.

“What? I’m going to go see him now.”

“You can’t make a scene, Yuuri.”

“What? I just won—"

“And you can give him and all your competitors a hug and a hand shake before the medal ceremony.”

“Oh.”

“Yuuri. You just won the Grand Prix.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri murmured as Kanako let him go and he leaned back to notice the cameras that were circling around him. “Yeah, I did.”

“Enjoy it.”

Yuuri nodded.

“Of course,” he said as Kanako started walking, leading him along with her.

He had no idea where they were going, despite the fact that he’d been to dozens if not hundreds of competitions. But he hadn’t stayed for this part of the last Grand Prix final he’d been to. And he certainly hadn’t won it.

Maybe that meant things would be different than what he’d known before.

“I’m just in a bit of shock, I think.”

“That’s to be expected, I bet. You were phenomenal, Yuuri. You deserve this victory.”

Yuuri blushed and looked down at the ground modestly, but all he could think about was how the all that he really wanted right now was the advice of the person who had one the last several Grand Prix series. Although he admittedly didn’t really want to talk to them because they’d been in this place before. He mostly wanted to talk to them because they were his boyfriend.

And it did ruin the moment, just a bit. Maybe Yuuri never would have felt euphoric in winning, like he’d kind of expected was supposed to happen. That was probably the case, there was too much emotion wound up into it, he was too exhausted—maybe he should be crying, but Yuuri didn’t cry in public, at least not this kind of public with all the people and the cameras certainly.

But maybe, just maybe he would have felt satisfied and proud instead of numb and overwhelmed if he’d been able to celebrate it with Viktor.

* * *

 

“Viktor?” Yuuri called out as he opened the hotel room door. The room was quiet though as he closed the door behind him.

For a moment Yuuri wondered if Viktor wasn’t even here. He’d sent Yuuri a text, telling him to meet him back at their room, but maybe he’d gotten caught up somewhere.

But then in a flurry of movement, arms wrapped around him and he fell back into the door as Viktor’s warm body pinned him there in a fierce embrace.

“I’m so proud of you Yuuri. So, so, so proud of you,” Viktor murmured into Yuuri’s shoulder. “Do you know how hard it was for me not to kiss you right as you stepped off the ice?” Viktor said as he pulled away just slightly, so they could look at each other.

“You didn’t even know then who won yet,” Yuuri pointed out, tilting his head forward so that his forehead came to knock against Viktor’s.

“Yes I did,” Viktor said immediately. “Of course I did.”

“Oh, Vitya,” Yuuri said, his voice suddenly rough.

“Hey, zolotse, how are you? Come sit down,” Viktor said, immediately picking up on Yuuri’s frazzled distress.

“Sorry, it’s just, it’s a lot.”

“I know,” Viktor said simply and for a long moment said nothing else. “But you were beautiful Yuuri, and you deserve this so much. You should be so proud of yourself. And if you’re not then I’ll be proud enough of you for both of us.”

Yuuri smiled softly.

“We should get ready for tonight,” Viktor suggested while he rubbed Yuuri’s back gently and Yuuri felt himself lean into his boyfriend’s side, slumping against Viktor, suddenly feeling desperate for his touch.

The closing banquet wasn’t until tomorrow after the exhibition, but Chris and Phichit of course wanted everyone together to go out and celebrate. Never mind it was already ten o’clock at night by the time the medal ceremonies had finished, and they’d escaped back to the hotel. Ten o’clock was Yuuri’s bedtime on an average night.

“I thought you said you wanted to really congratulate me? To make up for shaking my hand back on the podium.”

“I hugged you before the medal ceremony. And I—” Viktor reached over to squeeze Yuuri’s arm, offering a sympathetic smile as well.

Yuuri turned himself so that he was facing Viktor, able to look at him square in the eyes.

“I want more.”

And he did. This wasn’t enough. The chasteness in private and the erasure of them in public, it wasn’t enough.

“Yuuri—”

“Vitya.”

“What do you want?”

“To feel you, everywhere.”

“I don’t—we shouldn’t have sex right now. It’s been to big a day, we don’t have the time,” Viktor listed off strategically.

“We shouldn’t or you don’t want to?”

“Yuuri—”

“We can just, _fool around_ for a few minutes, can’t we?”

“You really want to?”

“Please, Vitya, just kiss me and don’t stop.”

And so Viktor did.

 

* * *

 

“Oh my god, you did it,” Phichit squealed.

“What?”

“You have a post-sex glow! Don’t deny it.”

“There is no such thing as a post sex glow, and if there was it definitely comes off in the shower and could probably easily be confused with a post-winning the Grand Prix finals glow.”

“You took a shower together!”

“Phichit.”

“Come on Yuuri! I have to live vicariously through you. It is one of the main tenants of our friendship.”

“We made out a bit,” Yuuri said, making a point to not say anything else. “That’s hardly groundbreaking, even for us.”

Phichit wasn’t having it though.

“And?”

“Phichit.”

“Please Yuuri! If you really don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to, but what’s the fun of having a best friend if you can’t talk about boys together!”

Yuuri sighed.

“It’s just so… awkward to say it out loud.”

“I’ll start guessing if that makes it easier,” Phichit offered, but Yuuri was quick to shut that down.

“No, please don’t. I um, we… just kissed for a while, but there was a bit more touching than we’ve done before.”

“Oh?”

“And then he, er, sucked me off.”

“Yuuri!”

“What?”

“Nothing, I’m just so proud. Was it good?”

“I mean, yeah.”

“Well it could be bad, sexual compatibility is an important part of a relationship.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be an issue.”

Phichit’s smile was so victorious, you’d have thought he was the one who’d won the Grand Prix.

“And you mentioned a shower?”

“Well we had to get ready to go out.”

“Ah.” Phichit was practically beaming.

“It was practical.”

“Of course.”

“And so I returned the favor.”

Phichit let out an embarrassingly loud whooping noise.

“That’s my boy! And were you good?”

Yuuri’s eyes widened.

“I don’t know! I hope,” he gasped. “He seemed to enjoy it.”

“Oh, I have no doubt he did. Do you swallow? I bet you do, of course you do,” Phichit waggled his eyebrows. “Or does Viktor like to mark his territory?”

“Oh my god what’s that!”

“Marking his territory? Yuuri come on, you definitely know what I mean.”

“No, on the ground, right there,” Yuuri said, pointing to the floor of the bar in front of the booth were he and Phichit were sitting.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, wait, I know—it’s the line! And oh look, you’ve crossed it.”

Phichit laughed.

“Alright, alright, fair enough,” Phichit rolled his eyes, then his expression sobered. “And everything is good with, well, you? It was a fun, positive experience and everything?”

“It was good. I’m glad we did it. I don’t want for there to become some big barrier by making it into something too unnecessarily special, you know? I’d hope that since it’s us it’s always going to be special. Like I’m glad we did something just kind of spontaneously because we wanted to. It makes me feel normal, I guess. That’s what people do when they’re in relationships, they have sex spontaneously because they want to. And I just want to feel normal. If it’s going to have to be a big deal, some kind of like the-first-time-must-be-special-and-perfect-because-you-are-fragile kind of deal, I think I’d have a hard time with it.”

Phichit was offering Yuuri a sympathetic smile when they were interrupted.

“Oh my god, you’d think that Viktor’s super charm would be able to get us served at the bar more quickly!” Chris announced suddenly, coming to slide in next to Phichit at the booth Phichit and Yuuri had been holding while Chris and Viktor went to get drinks.

“Maybe they know he’s no longer undefeated. All of France can sense it.”

“Or maybe there is just nothing to be done when the bartender is far too straight, and I don’t have breasts,” Viktor defended as he appeared from behind Chris and slid into the booth next to Yuuri.

“It probably didn’t help that you ordered cocktails. Why go through the wait of making the bartender make you a fucking cocktail at a crowded bar if you’re ordering it virgin? Just get a soda water or some coke!”

“Because Yuuri and I are the victors of the Grand Prix final! Just because we’re not drinking doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t have something a little special.”

“You’re not drinking?” Yuuri asked, turning to look at Viktor as the man offered him something very orange.

“You said you’re abstaining right now.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to.”

“Of course, I don’t have to, but I want to. It’s no fun if you’re stuck taking care of a bunch of drunks alone. That’s hardly fair to you. And I’m sure I can get drunk off your love,” Viktor added, dropping his voice so it became a bit sultrier and leaning into Yuuri far closer than could strictly speaking ever possibly be necessary.

Chris threw a coaster at them and they went scampering a part.

“You’re both getting gross,” Phichit added as commentary.

“Two minutes ago, you were trying to interrogate me about semen, you seem to get off on gross.”

“He was what?” Viktor laughed.

“Never mind,” Yuuri deflected quickly.

“It was _my_ semen, correct? That you were talking about?”

“So! How about that free program?”

“Yuuri, you’re a fool if you think any of us want to be talking about the competition when we could be gossiping about your sex life,” Chris interjected.

Yuuri slumped down in his seat, defeated.

“Oh!” Viktor laughed sympatheically, throwing an arm around Yuuri and rubbing his arm reassuringly. “Perhaps we should give my poor Yuuri a break, no matter how much fun he is to tease.”

“Oh?” Chris asked, “Is he?”

He didn’t appreciate the innuendo anymore than he ever did from Chris, but at least this time he had a little bit of practical experience from the other side of the joke.

Viktor’s mouth was so good at teasing in all ways, he now knew.

But out of a small and fleeting hope that the topic of conversation could one day change from his emerging sex life, Yuuri did not say that out loud.

So instead in a last-ditch effort, he pulled a fairly desperate card out of his back pocket.

“So, what’s going on with you two?” he asked, looking pointedly at Chris and Phichit.

“What?” Phichit asked, looking a little taken aback.

“You’ve become such great friends, and well, both of you are you, don’t tell me there isn’t at the very least a friends-with-benefits situation going on.”

“No comment,” Chris said, exchanging a glance with Phichit.

“Oh, so you can give it, but you can’t take it.”

“Mm, no darling, that would be Phichit. I’ll have it any way.”

Viktor burst out laughing and Yuuri’s eyes widened.

“Huh,” Yuuri said, genuinely a bit surprised. “Really? I always imagined—”

Phichit was actually blushing.

“Really, you’ve spent a lot of time imagining him, have you?” Viktor interjected. “And here I thought your idol fantasy of me was special!”

“I haven’t!” Yuuri exclaimed. “I just thought—how come when you’re teasing me it’s all endless and ‘Yuuri why are we even friends if you can’t write me non-fiction erotica after every time you have sex!’ and I say anything about anyone else it’s still immediately turned back on me?”

“Because you won tonight, darling,” Chris said simply.

“So?” Yuuri responded quickly but then paused. He had won tonight. He’d came in first place. And Phichit had come in sixth. Chris still stuck in third. Even Viktor booted from his usual spot in first.

It hadn’t felt like a huge upset, because Viktor had been so supportive. Because Phichit and Chris were his friends. But he didn’t realize that there inevitably must be a small part of them that was disappointed not to have done better, not to be where Yuuri is.

Yuuri did a lot of stupid, self-pitying things over the years in the name and shame of being a loser.

But Chris and Phichit had always seemed so immune.

“I’m going to go get both of you some shots,” Yuuri announced, motioning for Viktor to let him out of the booth. “And then we’re going to go find a club and go dancing.”

“Yuuri, are you—really, are you sure you’d be okay with that?” Viktor asked as he began to slide out of the booth to let Yuuri out.

Yuuri looked back at Viktor and the concern on his face.

“I think so, as long as I have you to dance with,” Yuuri said with a gentle smile. “And if it’s not then we’ll deal with that then.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am, now let me out, you!” Yuuri said, swatting at Viktor, who had scooted down the bench but had yet to stand up.

“I have to go see if that bartender is as straight as you think he is.”

“Oh? Do you plan to seduce him?” Viktor asked as he stood up from the booth and offered a hand to help Yuuri out.

“I’m not planning anything. I’m just saying that maybe you’re just not his type.”

“And maybe you are?”

Yuuri shrugged.

“Only one way to find out,” Yuuri called as he made his way towards the bar.

He came back less than two minutes later with a round of shots in his hands.

 

* * *

 

Viktor was laughing as he came to lean against the wall next to Yuuri.

Yuuri whined and slid his back down the wall until he was seated, slightly collapsed, on the sidewalk.

They’d left the club and were trying to find their way back to the hotel, but were getting terribly lost, and Yuuri was suddenly just so, so tired.

He’d had a good time at the club. It wasn’t a club anything like the seedy one he’d frequented in Hasetsu, this one was far more upscale and felt like an entirely new experience.

And Viktor had been there, refusing to leave his side for a second the whole time they were there.

It was nice to finally dance with Viktor. Fulfilling. All those months he’d gone clubbing he’d been dreaming of dancing with Viktor, of course, although he tried to pretend that wasn’t the case. And for months he’d danced with pseudo-Viktor’s and not-Viktor’s of varying degrees on wrongness.

But dancing with Viktor was of course so, so right. It was perfect, the sway of their bodies and the glide of Viktor’s hands against his body as they danced.

And their dancing wasn’t anything scandalous, no grinding or anything else too seductive. But apparently Viktor viewed clubs as safe spaces—too dark to get a decent photograph, too easy to write off anything that emerged as the result of drunkenness and general merriment. Which meant that Yuuri got to dance with him—got to touch him—right in the middle of a crowd.

But after an hour or so, Chris and Phichit had become lost in the crowd, and Yuuri realized that his feet were beginning to hurt and that no matter how much he enjoyed dancing with Viktor, they were far too sober to really let themselves lose.

So they sent a text to Chris and Phichit and exited, both of them stumbling along, exhausted and not paying nearly enough attention to where they were headed.

“I thought you said you knew Marseilles!” Yuuri groaned as he curled up into a ball, resting his head against his knees.

“I’ve been here for a competition before once or twice. I don’t know every back street and alley!” Viktor defended, coming to sit down next to Yuuri. “And I was mostly just looking for excuses to spent time and show off to you,” Viktor admitted.

Yuuri looked out into the street ahead of them—it was a quiet, very old-world European feeling kind of affair. Everything was stone and charm—even in the dead of night and only illuminated by the light of a single street lamp. They’d apparently stumbled far from the nightlife district. The street wasn’t entirely deserted, a few people occasionally cutting up what was probably little more than a side street, but none of them seemed to pay much attention to or even notice at all the two men who were now leaning up against each other as they sat on the sidewalk.

“Can you—” Yuuri started but lost his train of thought.

“Can I what?” Viktor asked.

“I—I’m so tired Vitya,” Yuuri murmured. “Words are hard.”

“Aw,” Viktor cooed, “Come here my love.” Viktor gestured for Yuuri to come closer, but all Yuuri had the energy to do was to fall so he was laying across Viktor’s lap. Viktor chuckled and ran a hand through Yuuri’s hair.

“Hopefully I have reception, I’m going to pull up a map,” Viktor said, fumbling a bit to pull out his phone from his pocket without disturbing Yuuri.

“Good,” Yuuri said, and then a moment later finished, “Idea. Right.”

“Are you sure you didn’t have anything to drink, lyubov moya?” Viktor laughed.

“I’m sure. Just tired.”

“Do you need me to carry you home?”

“Mm, maybe. Maybe if we just take a break here for a few minutes though I’ll feel better.”

“What you need is probably more like a dozen hours of sleep.”

Yuuri could only let out some grumbling noises as Viktor continued to stroke his hair.

“Sh,” Viktor shushed him, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of Yuuri’s temple. “I’ll get you to bed soon, I promise you.”

“But I like it right here. You’re so soft and warm.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, you’re my favorite pillow. These nice athletic thighs of yours.”

“Oh?”

“Mmhmm.”

Then for a few minutes it fell silent, Yuuri left to nuzzle his cheek against Viktor’s thigh and try to ignore the cold stone that was still under the lower half of his body.

“Alright, let us get you up. I think I figured out the way back,” Viktor announced eventually, rubbing Yuuri’s arm.

Yuuri could only muster a whimper and a groan in response as he regretfully pulled himself up from Viktor’s lap, leaning with a thud back against the wall.

Viktor stood up beside him and offered Yuuri a hand.

“Come on, my sleeping beauty.”

Yuuri took Viktor’s hand and allowed the other man to pull him up. Once Yuuri was up, Viktor quickly slung an arm around him, letting Yuuri lean into his side as they began to walk.

“Have I told you how adorable you are?” Viktor asked quietly as they stumbled along.

Yuuri hummed. He probably had at some point. Yuuri could remember better if he didn’t already feel half a sleep.

“Have I told you how lucky I am to have you?”

Yuuri hummed again. Maybe not explicitly, but Yuuri understood without it being spoken.

“Have I told you I love you?”

Yuuri came to a halt.

“Never out loud.”

“But you already know?”

“I had an idea.”

“I love you,” Viktor said, placing a hand on Yuuri’s cheek.

Maybe it was the exhaustion making him a bit hysterical and inhibiting his better judgement to behave more appropriately in a moment like this, but Yuuri found himself rolling his eyes before placing a quick peck on Viktor’s lips.

“I love you too, you exasperating man. I always have.”

Viktor offered him a smile and his eyes glimmered with the nights light.

“Now are we close to the hotel or do you actually have some secret plan to kidnap me and dump my body in the sea as a ploy to make sure you maintain your World Championship?”

Now it was Viktor’s turn to roll his eyes.

“It’s right around the corner.”

“Thank god.”

“Come on Mr. Grand Prix Champion,” Viktor laughed. “Let’s get you to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has come to my attention that there is now like a 98% percent chance that I'm never going to write explicit smut for this fic. It just doesn't feel right, and I don't want to force it. I'm not going to lower the rating because this fic is a bit heavy and I do mention various things with varying degrees of blunt explicitness at various points-- things which honestly I think require more caution than a couple lines about how tight someones ass is and a cliche description of how good orgasms feel or something. But if you really think I should lower the rating to M and that is something you deeply would care about me doing, feel let me know in the comments. But I guess if you want like my real crack at like detailed and explicit erotica, go read _Give Me Too Much_. But I hope you didn't like read 100,000 words into this fic solely just waiting so that you could listen me describe Yuuri and Viktor's dicks. If you did though, let me know I guess and maybe I can work something in a later chapter (but probably not, but who knows I'll probably do anything if you're nice enough to me).
> 
> Also as always thanks for reading and feel free to leave a comment if you want, even if you never have before. I'll almost definitely love it. <3


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